


Love Is Mental

by RedShirtWriter34567



Category: Blackpool | Viva Blackpool (TV), Dirty Filthy Love (2004)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Anal Sex, Angst, Assault, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Boyfriends, Confessions, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Fever, Fever Dreams, First Date, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Friendship, Gentle Sex, Gift Giving, Hospitals, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Moving In Together, Nightmares, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pneumonia, Protectiveness, Reunions, Romance, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sleepovers, Stabbing, Stalking, Swearing, Tourette's Syndrome, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedShirtWriter34567/pseuds/RedShirtWriter34567
Summary: DI Peter Carlisle is still living Blackpool when word starts spreading about some crazy guy who's been living in an abandoned flat, stealing newspapers from trashcans and barking at passersby. Peter goes to investigate and finds Mark Furness, ill and just as alone as he is.
Relationships: Peter Carlisle/Mark Furness
Comments: 103
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

It was early in the morning when DI Peter Carlisle walked into the Blackpool Police Department. A few officers nodded at him politely, but several others just glared at him. He ignored them though. He’d been living in Blackpool for awhile now, even after the whole arcade business and he didn’t care that people didn’t like him. As long as they got their jobs done they could hate him all they wanted. He walked into Allbright’s office without knocking.

“Good morning, Carlisle,” Allbright said without looking up from his desk.

“Morning,” Peter replied. “What have you got for me?”

“Nothing much,” Allbright admitted, pushing some files across the desk toward him. “Crime has been rather slow.”

Peter frowned and picked up the files, flipping through them one by one. A few were vaguely interesting, but really nothing the police could cover. Allbright had a point though. Crime rates had been the lowest in Blackpool for several months. Most days the most exciting thing Peter got to do was put away crime scene photos in the Records room. He sighed and tossed the files back onto the desk.

“What’s a detective have do to find a crime around here?” he asked, leaning back in the chair.

Allbright shook his head. “I don’t know. Why don’t you just go with one of the rookies on patrol?”

Peter snorted and stood up. “I want a mystery to solve, not be bored out of my bloody skull.”

Allbright shrugged. “Sorry.”

Peter grumbled and left the office. He hadn’t had a decent case in months. There was only so much time he could will away filling out witness reports at robberies and other smaller crimes. He walked past the lounge and heard laughter coming from within.

“Motherfucker was barking like a dog,” an officer was saying. “He was holding all these newspapers and had some serious crazy eyes.”

Peter stopped and walked backward to the lounge and opened the door. Three uniformed officers were sitting around the table, sipping coffee. They were laughing but stopped instantly when they saw Peter. 

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” one of the officers said. “Just some crazy hermit we saw on patrol this morning.”

“What makes you think he’s crazy?” Peter asked.  


“He was barking and cursing every few words,” another officer answered. “He’s probably just some addict or maybe some escaped mental patient. Or he might be homeless. I’m sure we’ll be seeing him soon.”

Peter frowned. He was kind of curious about it though. It wasn’t a crime or anything, but it was still interesting. 

“Where did you guys see him?” he asked the officers. 

“What do you care, Carlisle?” one of them asked. “Shouldn’t you be shacking up with some other bloke’s wife?”

His companions all chuckled. Peter gritted his teeth so hard his jaw cracked, his hands balling into fists. He felt his face flush with anger but forced himself to remain calm.

“Just tell me where you saw him,” he said slowly. “Please,” he added, just for good measure.

“We saw him at the corner of Harold’s Avenue,” the third officer said. “In an alley between two old buildings and across from a construction site.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, not really meaning it.

He walked out of the lounge and out of the precinct, his face still feeling warm. The others all got a huge kick out of the fact that Natalie and he had had an affair for months while he worked the case of her husband, but she left him a month or so after the case was closed. Peter wasn’t even sure where she was now. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He’d pined for her for months but eventually came to terms with her leaving. At least he was pretty sure he had.

He found his car, still in his reserved space and drove to the address the officers had given him. It was about ten minutes away from the station and when Peter pulled up, the area looked deserted save for the construction site across the way. Peter couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be building. It was just a ton of noise. He exited the car and approached the alley between the two buildings.

“Hello?” he called. “Is anybody here?”

There was no answer. Peter looked up at the buildings on either side of the alley. They looked like old flats or something. He squinted at the dirty windows, but the buildings looked pretty much empty. The detective walked further down the alley, noticing that the trash cans looked like they’d been searched. The officers had said that they’d seen the man taking newspapers from them. 

“I’m with the police,” Peter said aloud. “I can help you if you need help.”

More silence, but then Peter heard a soft sound further away. It sounded like a cough. He walked over toward a cluster of trash cans, switching on his flashlight. He started to walk closer to them, but then he heard a loud curse as something flew out from behind the cans, right at Peter. He caught sight of tangled hair and bright eyes before searing pain erupted above Peter’s left eyebrow. 

“Fuck!” he cursed, dropping his flashlight with a clatter and holding his head.

He felt warmth trickle down his face, into his eye, and his fingers came away red and shiny. He saw a man standing a few feet in front of him, shaking and coughing. His hair and beard were tangled, obscuring his face. His clothes were faded and baggy, hanging off his frame. He dropped a beer bottle to the ground as he stared at Peter.

“W-who are you?” the man stammered. “What are you doing here? Fucking hell!”

“I’m Detective Investigator Peter Carlisle,” Peter said. “Some other officers said they saw a man here taking newspapers out of trash cans and barking.”

“So what?” the man asked. “That’s not a crime, is it?”

Peter flicked blood out of his eye and slowly stood up, picking up his flashlight as he did so. The man watched him uneasily. His eyes, almost hidden behind his hair, were bright but not dilated like a junkie’s. He kept twitching though, blinking his eyes and coughing and cursing. He also seemed to be holding his chest, like he was in pain.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked. “Do you need help?”

“Hell no,” the man snapped. “You and your officers have helped enough.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked. “Did they hurt you?”

“One of them came up to me, kept asking if I was a crackhead or an escaped looney,” the man explained. “I told him to-Fuck ass-to leave me alone, but he and his buddies wouldn’t listen. They beat the shit out of me and threatened to have me arrested.”

Peter’s blood boiled. No wonder those dicks had been so amused. He clenched his flashlight tighter in his fist.

“I’m sorry,” he told the man. “I didn’t know that. I’ll tell their boss and see that they’re punished.”

The man said nothing. Peter rubbed his head, feeling the cut there. He and the man watched each other wearily.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” the man said. “I thought you were one of them.”

“It’s okay,” Peter replied. “What’s your name?”

“Mark,” the man answered. “Mark Furness.”

“Do you need anything?” Peter asked. “Do I need to call somebody, or some place?”

“No, I live here,” Mark answered, pointing to the building on the right side of the alley. “I’m fine. Really.”

Peter arched his right eyebrow. “Are you sure? You might need a doctor or-”

“No!” Mark snapped angrily. “Fucking hell no!”

What was this guy’s deal? Peter backed away a little. He figured the guy was probably just jumpy after being attacked. 

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Peter said, backing further out of the alley.

He got into his car and groaned as he examined his head. The cut slashed above his eye, only a few inches long. He wouldn’t even need stitches. He watched as Mark slowly exited the alley, looking around before vanishing into the building. How could he be living there? Peter lingered a little longer before driving back to the station, intending on giving those idiots a piece of his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you really buying this, Chief?” Officer Logan asked with an eye roll. “We didn’t touch that looney.”

“He said you did,” Peter spat angrily, crossing his arms. “He told me that you guys were harassing him and when he told you to leave him alone, you beat the shit out of him!”

“He’s a junkie,” Officer Dawson said. “He probably just imagined we beat him up.” He smirked as he eyed the cut on Peter’s head. “But clearly he beat the crap out of you. Now we have an excuse to arrest him.”

“He only attacked me because you scared him!” Peter snapped. “He thought I was one of you coming back for more!” He glared at Allbright. “Don’t them arrest him. He didn’t mean to attack me.”

“He’s lying, Chief,” Officer Hayes interjected, the last of the three of the worst cops in Blackpool. “You know that, don’t you?”

Peter gritted his teeth. “I’m not lying. I saw how scared and jumpy he was. It wasn’t drugs.” He glanced at Allbright again. “Please, Chief.”

Allbright sighed, massaging his temples with one hand. “Look, boys, this is the fourth time this month I’ve heard of you harassing somebody. Peter is my most senior officer. Why should I take his word over yours?”

“Because he’s a manipulative son of a bitch?” Officer Logan sneered, glaring at Peter. “Who sleeps with guys’ wives and then pines for them like a heartsick teenage girl when they leave him?”

Peter’s temper flared. “You son of a bitch!”

He lunged at Logan with his fists raised. Allbright sprung up from his desk and stepped between the men, placing a hand on Peter’s chest to keep him back. The three officers all yelled and swore loudly, and Logan tried to get at Peter but was held back by his cronies.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Allbright shouted. “Peter, cool your jets.” He looked at Logan and company. “Stand down, Logan. I hate to do this but I’ve been getting complaints about you three since you got here. You’re all fired. Turn in your badges, your guns, and I.D. cards, then go clear out your lockers.”

“Fucking bullshit!” Logan cursed. His eyes flashed with rage as he and his buddies tossed their stuff onto Allbright’s desk. “You’ll pay for this, Carlisle.”

The three officers walked out and slammed the office door shut. Peter sighed heavily and Allbright removed his hand from his chest. 

“You should’ve fired them a long time ago,” Peter told him. 

“I know,” Allbright replied. “You’re welcome. Now I think you should go home.”

“What?” Peter asked. “Why? Am I fired too?”

“No, but I think you need to go home, maybe put an ice pack on that hot head of yours,” Allbright replied. “You need to get a better hold on yourself, Carlisle. I can’t have you getting into fist fights with people here. If you do I’ll put you on paid leave, or make you see an anger management coach.”

Peter held back a biting a reply and instead answered, “Yes, sir.”

He walked out the office and through the precinct. People stared at him as he walked by, whispering amongst themselves. Peter felt his anger boil up again but forced it down. He’d always had a bit of a temper but ever since Natalie had left it had gotten even shorter, especially when he had to deal with twits like Logan and his friends. Peter left the station and drove back to his flat about twenty minutes away. 

He unlocked the door and tossed his keys, his wallet, and his I.D. lanyard into the coffee table with a clatter. The place was fairly nice, an upgrade from Peter’s old flat. It had a kitchenette, a living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Peter went into the bathroom first and looked in the mirror. The cut was small and caked in dried blood, the skin around it red and raised up into a welt. Peter touched it and hissed lightly. It didn’t hurt as much as before, but he figured he should tend to it anyway.

He pulled a small first-aid kit out from under the sink and opened it, removing some cotton swabs, Band-Aids, and a tube of antibacterial gel. He swabbed the Band-Aid with the gel and slowly placed it over the cut, then went to the kitchen, grabbed some ice cubes from the freezer, placed them in a Ziploc bag, wrapped it in a dish towel, and held it against his head as he flopped down onto the couch with a sigh. He needed a drink but knew from experience that drinking with a head injury, even a minor one, was a bad idea.

Peter tilted his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he iced his head. His mind drifted back to Mark Furness. Was he okay after the beating he’d taken? Peter hadn’t seen any of his injuries, but the coughing and the way Mark had been holding his chest was worrisome. And while he didn’t seem to be on any drugs, he did seem off in some other way that Peter couldn’t quite place. What was with the cursing and the twitching Peter had seen? 

“Maybe he is crazy,” Peter said to himself. “But not in a bad way. Maybe he’s mentally ill.”

Peter had seen an unfortunate amount of mentally ill people being treated badly by others. Maybe that was one of the reasons Logan and his goons beat Mark up. Besides that fact that were just dicks. That thought made Peter angry again. He hated bigots and stupid people. 

‘I’ll go check on him tomorrow morning,’ Peter decided, staring out the window at the late afternoon sky. ‘See if he’s really okay.’

He wasn’t sure how he would gain Mark’s trust. He probably wouldn’t trust Peter since he worked with the police. But Peter wanted to help him. He wasn’t sure what it was about Mark that drew him in, but it was there. The detective got up from the couch, threw away his melting ice pack, and grabbed his laptop from his bedroom. He typed ‘mental illness’ into a search engine and spent the remainder of the afternoon researching. Peter read articles and took notes late into the night. He took some painkillers when his eyes and head started to ache but stayed up. This wasn’t as exciting as a crime, but it fascinated Peter all the same. 

Eventually, the detective fell asleep around two in the morning, stretched out across his sofa, his laptop open on his chest, fully clothed. This was actually quite normal for Peter. He hadn’t slept in his actual bed in months. Not since Natalie.


	3. Chapter 3

Mark’s chest was killing him. He was laying on his thin cot, his body covered by a couple ratty blankets, trying to ward off the early morning chill seeping into his flat. He shivered and tried to curl up for warmth, but his chest screamed in protest, a sharp pain radiating from his sternum each time he breathed or coughed, but holding in the coughs just made him feel worse. He cursed and felt his face tic, his eyes watering as he blinked rapidly. He rolled over onto his back slowly and lowered the blankets a little.

His chest was covered in an array or purplish-black bruises, almost completely covering his sternum. There were also a few tell-tale bruises shaped like boots from where those officers had stepped on him to hold him in place. Mark cringed as he remembered the attack, how sudden it had been. He had been teased a lot on his younger days but had never been fully beat up like that. It had been so scary and had made Mark feel like a trapped animal. He remembered being too scared to move even after the officers had left, afraid that they would come back for more.

Then that other guy had showed up. That detective Mark had attacked with a beer bottle out of pure fear. What was his name again? Mark’s thoughts had been too jumbled the past twenty four hours to remember. He remembered feeling bad about it though, considering that the man hadn’t meant any harm. Mark coughed suddenly and leaned forward as his chest was wracked with pain. He licked his lips and tasted blood. 

“Fuck,” Mark muttered. 

He needed medical attention, but he had no job to afford any medications and didn’t really trust doctors. He knew that the healthcare system here was different than in the US, but he hated hospitals and doctors. Mark’s face twitched again and he cursed a couple times, shivering but also noticing that he was sweating. His groaned and flopped back down on his mattress, pulling the blankets over his head. He shivered and coughed in the safety of his cocoon, but then stopped when he realized he’d heard something.

“Hello?” a man’s voice with a Scottish accent called. “Mark? It’s me, Detective Carlisle.”

Mark frowned and lowered the covers again, then slowly stood up, hissing through his teeth. He wore just a pair of baggy jeans and no shirt, his hair and beard tangled and unkempt. He walked across the cold and newspaper-covered floor and peered out the window. The detective from yesterday was standing outside the building, dressed in jeans and a navy peacoat to ward off the chill. His feathery brown hair was tousled by the wind as he squinted up at the window Mark was looking out of. The other man quickly ducked out of sight and sat on the floor beneath the window, his heart thudding against his probably cracked ribcage. What was he doing back here?

‘Maybe he’s here to arrest me,’ Mark thought worriedly. 

He stayed crouched beneath the window, afraid to move. He couldn’t hear anything save for the birds singing and the noise of the construction site across the street. Then he heard the man call out again.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” the man said. “I’m not like those pricks who beat you up. I reported them yesterday and they were all fired.”

That made Mark perk up a little. He slowly rose to his knees and looked out the window again. The detective was still standing outside beside his car, looking up at the building. Mark hesitated for a minute before he picked up a faded flannel shirt and his jacket, then slowly made his way down the rickety stairs to the ground floor. He lingered outside the front door before carefully pushing it open and stepping out onto the cracked front porch. 

“Hello,” he said. 

“Hey,” the detective replied, smiling. “Do you remember me?”

Yes,” Mark replied. “Detective Carlisle.”

“You can call me Peter,” the detective said. “Detective is a little too formal.”

“Alright,” Mark said. He stayed where he was on the porch, gripping the doorframe tightly, ready to run if Peter became hostile. “What are you doing back here?”

Peter rubbed his jaw and stepped a little closer, standing behind the small wooden fence encircling the property. Mark stepped back, every muscle in his body tensing up. 

“I just wanted to check on you,” Peter admitted, placing one hand on the fence. “I wanted to make sure you were okay, after what happened.”

“I’m fine,” Mark lied despite how hot he was suddenly feeling, how dizzy. “Thank you.” He could feel his face twitching and felt a curse word in his throat. 

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied. He scratched his head and Mark noticed the bandage above his left eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry again that I hit you,” Mark said. “You’re not here to arrest me, are you?”

“No, of course not,” Peter responded, sounding offended. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

Mark nodded and coughed raggedly, his chest screaming in pain as he doubled over. He slipped to the ground and wheezed as he saw blood droplets sprinkle the sidewalk. 

“Oh, my God,” he heard Peter exclaim. 

He heard the gate creak open and a pair of shoes appeared in Mark’s field of vision. He felt a hand grip his left arm and attempted to help him. Mark coughed for a few more minutes before he was finally able to stop, breathing heavily and feeling like he was being pricked by hot needles from the inside. His shirt had ridden up and hints of his bruised skin were exposed. 

“Fuck, I knew you were probably hurt,” Peter mumbled. 

He placed a hand on Mark’s chest and applied the slightest hint of pressure. Mark hissed in pain and Peter took his hand away. Through the curtain of his hair, Mark could see his expression. He looked concerned.

“I think one of your ribs is fractured,” Peter said. “That’s why you’re coughing blood. Does your chest hurt?”

Mark nodded, his eyes blinking like mad. Peter frowned deeper, lines forming around his mouth and between his eyebrows. He placed the back of his hand against Mark’s neck and the other man yelped because of how cold Peter’s hand was. 

“You have a fever,” Peter said, sounding worried. “A bad one. We need to get you to a doctor.”

“No! Fuck!” Mark snapped. “I’m not going to the doctor!” He pulled himself from Peter’s grip.

“Why not?” Peter asked. “You need help, man. You’re sick and injured.”

“Because the doctors keep trying to fix me,” Mark snapped angrily. “But no matter what they do I’ll just be a crazy waste of space! There’s no point in trying to be anything else if that’s just how everyone is going to see me!”

He coughed again, felt more blood speckle his lips and drip down his chin. He looked up at Peter through his hair and saw the conflicted expression on the man’s face. He was biting his lower lip and running a hand through his hair. He looked from Mark to his car and back a few times, seeming to be debating with himself.

“I won’t force you to go to a doctor if you don’t want to,” he decided, turning back to Mark. “But I also can’t just leave you here like this.”

“What do you bloody care?” Mark griped. “You don’t even know me.”

“No, but I am a detective and a member of law enforcement,” Peter said. “It’s my job to help people.”

Mark flicked some of his hair out of his eyes and studied Peter, who had now crouched down on his haunches to look at Mark more carefully. His eyes were big and brown and earnest, not at all like the cruel eyes of the officers Mark had encountered the previous day.

“How are you going to help me then?” he asked cautiously.

“I have a good friend who’s a doctor at the local hospital,” Peter explained. “Would it be okay if I brought them here to look at you?”

Mark hesitated again. He knew he needed medical attention, but part of him was still afraid of this man and his motives. But he also knew that if Peter did mean him any harm, he surely would have done something by now and probably wouldn’t have reported those abusive officers.

“When will you bring them?” Mark asked slowly, trying not to tic. 

“On my lunch break,” Peter replied. “Is that okay with you?”

Mark wanted to say no. Every part of him was screaming not to trust Peter. But maybe that was just because he was still scared and scarred from the beating. Peter wasn’t like the officers who beat him up. He was trying to help Mark and he wasn’t even forcing it on him. He was asking if Mark wanted help.

“Okay,” Mark agreed. “I’ll let you bring your doctor friend here. I live up on the top floor. But you have to promise me that they’ll only look at my physical injuries. Don’t let them examine my head, alright?”

Peter looked a little confused but he nodded. “Okay. I promise.” He looked up at the building and then back at Mark, offering him a hand.

Mark reached up and took it, suddenly very aware of his long, dirty fingernails. Peter looked at them but he didn’t cringe or show any sort of visible disgust as he helped Mark to his feet.

“Do you need help getting back up to your flat?” Peter asked. 

“No, thanks,” Mark replied. “Ass fuck!”

He groaned and slapped a hand over his mouth. His Tourette’s always acted up more when he was nervous or agitated. Peter arched his bandaged eyebrow.

“I’ll see you later, Mark, okay?” he said. “And I’ll bring help. I promise.”

Mark nodded and slipped back into the building, making his way slowly back upstairs, not fighting the compulsion to walk up them in his usual strange pattern. By the time he entered his flat again, he looked out the window and saw Peter’s car driving away and disappearing from view. Mark watched him go, suddenly realizing something. Peter had remembered his name.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter rolled up outside Mark’s apartment later that day around twelve in the afternoon. He put his car in park and took the keys from the ignition. 

“Jesus, he lives there?” said the man in the passenger seat. “That place looks like it might be haunted.”

Peter turned to his friend, Dr. Shaun Parker from Blackpool Medical Clinic, and arched an eyebrow. The red-headed doctor shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his eyeglasses.

“I brought you here to take a look at Mark, not comment on his living,” Peter told him. “So get whatever snide comments you have out of your system before we go inside, alright? Mark’s a little weary of strangers and it took a lot of convincing to even get him to agree to let you come here.”

“You told me at the hospital you think he has a mental illness,” Shaun said. “Did you ask him whether he does or not?”

“No,” Peter snorted. “Why would I? I don’t think you outright go, “‘Hey, nice to meet you, do you have a mental illness?’” 

“So you think he does but won’t call him out on it,” Shaun surmised. “Smart move.”

“I’m hoping you can figure it out while you’re looking him over,” Peter explained. “You studied mental illness in med school, right? Maybe you can tell what he has without having to ask him.”

“Why can’t I ask him?” Shaun asked. 

“He made me promise not to let you examine his head. He told me that he was sick of doctors trying to fix him when the world will still just see him as looney.”

Shaun was silent for a couple minutes before he sighed. “Alright, let’s do this. Lead the way.”

Peter nodded and they both got out of the car, Shaun shouldering a bag of equipment he’d checked out from the hospital. Peter led him through the gate and then opened the door to the building, which creaked loudly as he did so and nearly fell off the hinges. They walked up the stairs, which squeaked and creaked with each step, and looked old and rotten. 

“You mind telling me why you care about this guy so much?” Shaun asked Peter as they climbed. “You just met the guy the other day and now you’re bringing him a doctor.”

Peter considered his answer. He wasn’t sure why he cared about Mark. Part of it was because he felt bad about him being assaulted by Logan and his cronies. But there was something else, something deeper that Peter couldn’t identify. He felt like he and Mark had something in common. He just didn't know what.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted to Shaun. “I mostly feel bad that Logan and those thugs attacked him.”

Shaun studied him for a second before they reached the top floor. The hallway was just as decrepit as the rest of the building. The carpeting was ragged and torn, the paint on the walls peeling and chipped, the rest of the doors taped off with bright yellow hazard tape. There was a single boarded up a window at the end of the hall and the whole place smelled musty. Peter was wondering which door was Mark’s when he noticed one of the doors had no tape over it and that it was open just a crack.

“Mark?” Peter asked, coming over to the door with Shaun in tow. “It’s Peter. Can me and my friend come in?”

His answer was a couple of ragged coughs before Mark’s voice answered hoarsely, “Yeah.”

He sounded worse than earlier. Peter eased the door open and motioned to Shaun to follow him. Mark’s flat was less a flat and more of a cave or even a hovel. The floor was covered in newspapers as was the wall. There was an old TV sitting on a rickety table and a single window framed by moth-bitten curtains. It didn’t look like it had a bathroom and didn’t feel as though it had any air-conditioning judging by how hot it felt. Peter arched an eyebrow as he and Shaun looked around the room. How could anyone live like this?

There was a cot in the corner on which there was a lump huddled beneath several ratty-looking blankets. Peter motioned for Shaun to stay back and approached the bed. 

“Mark?” he asked tentatively.

The blankets were lowered and Mark’s face was revealed. His hair was matted to his flushed face, his eyes bright beneath his fringe. He coughed again as he looked up at Peter.

“I brought my friend,” Peter told him. “You want to meet him?”

“Sure,” Mark rasped.

Peter looked back and gestured for Shaun to come forward. Mark sat up a little, wincing and coughed as he did.

“Hello. Mr. Furness,” Shaun greeted. “My name is Dr. Shaun Parker. Peter brought me here to take a look at you. Is that alright?”

Mark nodded and Shaun knelt down on the floor, flipping open his bag and removing a couple things, one of them a stethoscope that he put around his neck. 

“Could you sit up please, Mr. Furness?” he requested. “I’d like to listen to your heart and lungs and also check your torso to see if you have a rib fracture.”

Mark nodded and sat up, his face twitching and his eyes blinking rapidly. The blankets fell away from his body, revealing the purplish bruises littered about his chest and his stomach. Some were even in the clear shape of footprints. Peter frowned at them as Shaun began to examine Mark, who looked uncomfortable and kept coughing and cursing every now and again. 

“Your heart rate is a little faster and your breathing sounds strained,” Shaun murmured, moving his scope around on Mark’s back. “Does your chest hurt?”

“Yes,” Mark answered. “It feels like I’m being stabbed from the inside every time I cough or inhale deeply. I thought that was because of my ribs though.”

“It might be,” Shaun agreed, putting away the stethoscope and removing a small thermometer from his pack. 

He stuck it carefully in Mark’s ear and held it there for a minute before it beeped. Mark winced at the sound and Shaun removed it to examine the reading.

“What’s it say?” Peter asked.

“102.4,” Shaun answered. 

“Is that bad?” Peter asked. “It sounds bad.”

Shaun said nothing and donned a pair of blue latex gloves. 

“Lay back for me, Mr. Furness,” he told Mark. “I need to examine your torso to see if and how many of your ribs are broken.”

Mark nodded and laid back. Shaun placed his hands on the man’s torso and began applying slight pressure here and there, causing Mark to wince or even hiss. Peter suddenly felt uncomfortable watching and started to look around the flat, though there wasn’t much to look at. The newspapers on the wall didn’t really make sense and a lot of them seemed old and faded. However, Peter noticed among the newspapers there were pictures. Mostly of buildings like the Eiffel Tower, the Taj Mahal, the Statue of Liberty. Others were pictures of large cities at night, lit up like a sea of stars.

‘I wonder what the point of these pictures are,’ Peter thought, staring at a photo of a beautiful cathedral beneath a blue sky. ‘I guess if you were living here you wouldn’t just want to stare at newspapers all the time.’

“Peter,” Shaun said, bringing him back to the room.

The detective turned and faced the doctor. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Furness has two fractured ribs and pneumonia,” Shaun explained. “I think the pneumonia might be because of the breaks, but I can’t be sure.”

Peter bit his lip and looked behind Shaun at Mark, who looked scared and was still shivering, goosebumps peppering his still bare torso. 

“What does he need?” Peter asked. 

“Antibiotics and rest for the pneumonia and pain meds for his ribs while they heal,” Shaun replied. “I have some antibiotics and some painkillers. As long as he stays hydrated and takes these meds, he’ll be fine in about a week. Two at the most.”

He reached into his bag and removed two different pill bottles, showing them to Mark. 

“I have some penicillin and some naproxen for you, Mr. Furness,” Shaun said. “You’ll need to take the antibiotics twice a day for a week and the naproxen no more than two pills per every 6 to eight hours.”

“Okay,” Mark replied. “Thank you, Doctor.” He coughed into his fist. “Fucking dammit.”

Shaun placed the pill bottles aside and packed up his bag, motioning for Peter to follow him out into the hallway. 

“What is it?” Peter asked as they stepped out and he closed the door behind them.

“He needs to be carefully monitored,” Shaun answered. “His pneumonia could get worse because of his living conditions. If it’s hot in there now I can only imagine how cold it can be in the early morning. Coldness can make pneumonia worse even with medicine.”

“So what does he need?” Peter asked. “I might not be able to take him anywhere but I can still get him things he might need.”

Shaun stared at him in that clinical way of his through his glasses before he sighed and ran a hand over his hair. 

“He needs warmth so maybe thicker blankets or even an electric one,” he told Peter. “Make sure he eats before he takes the pain meds and try to make sure he stays hydrated.”

“How often should I check on him though?” Peter asked. “I’m at work until the evening every day except for the hour I have for lunch.”

“Check with him at least twice since that’s when he has to take his meds,” Shaun decided. “He’ll hopefully be better in two weeks but his ribs could still take another three or more to heal. And if things get really bad you’ll have to bring him to the hospital, okay?”

Peter nodded. “What should I do now?”

“Get him the blankets or at least some other heating elements,” Shaun instructed. “I have to get back. Good luck with everything, alright?”

Shaun started to leave but Peter stopped him. 

“Wait,” the detective said. “What about his, you know, mental state?”

Shaun lingered on the stairs and looked back at Peter. “You should talk to him about that.”

He left without another word and Peter frowned. He watched Shaun leave and then went back into Mark’s flat. He was huddled beneath his blankets again, coughing and shivering.  
Peter came over and squatted down on his haunches beside the cot.

“I have to take Shaun back to the hospital and pick you up some things,” Peter told Mark. “Did you already take one of your antibiotics?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah. The doctor had some water in his pack and he gave some to take.”

“Good,” Peter said. “I’ll be back, alright? Just hang on.”

Mark nodded again. Peter rose up and moved toward the door.

“Peter,” Mark croaked, making him stop.

The detective turned his head. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” Mark rasped. 

Peter smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll be back. Get some rest, yeah?”

Mark nodded and closed his eyes as Peter left the flat.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter returned to Mark’s flat an hour later, a bag of supplies hanging off his shoulder as he climbed the rickety stairs up to the apartment. He knocked once gently and then eased the door open again. Mark was curled up on his side, facing the door, his face tight with pain and shivers still wracking his body. It didn’t seem like the meds had started working yet. Peter frowned in concern as he entered the room and closed the door behind himself. Mark blinked his eyes open at the sound.

“Hey,” Peter said. “How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Mark replied. “Bloody awful. The meds aren’t working.”

“They will,” Peter told him. “You just have to give them time.”

He lowered the bag off his shoulder to the floor and started rummaging through it. He removed a hot water bottle, a folded electric blanket, a pack of bottled water and sports drinks, and a bottle of cough medicine. 

“I got you this blanket,” Peter explained to Mark as he unfolded it. “Shaun told me that you need to keep warm or the pneumonia could get worse. This place doesn’t have air conditioning by the feel of it, so I’m guessing it probably is freezing here during the early morning, right?”

Mark nodded. “Sometimes it’s like a meat locker.”

“That’s what I thought,” Peter said. “Let’s plug this in so you can use it tonight. There an outlet nearby?”

Mark pointed over toward the end of his cot and Peter spotted an outlet among the newspapers plastered there. He laid the blanket down and plugged it in, amazed that the flat even had power as he felt the blanket start to heat up. He looked up from it and saw Mark watching his, his face twitching, his eyes blinking madly behind the lank fall of his sweaty hair. Peter came back over and placed the bottles of water and sports drink within his reach.

“Hydration is always important when you’re sick,” he told Mark. “I wasn’t sure if you had any drinks here so I thought it best to stock you up on some stuff.”

“Thanks,” Mark croaked. “I haven’t had much time yet to go get anything. Fuck!”

Peter arched an eyebrow and sat back against the wall as he opened the cough medicine. “Where do you get stuff like food and water? You have a job?”

“I did,” Mark admitted. “But I lost it a few months ago. I usually go to the soup kitchen down the block for food. Sometimes they let me bring leftovers back here.”

Peter poured some of the medicine into the cap and examined the measurements printed along the inside. He’d wondered how Mark was surviving in living conditions like this and a soup kitchen made sense. 

“Where do you keep the stuff?” he asked. 

“The flat across from mine is in better condition,” Mark explained. “It has a working fridge and running water.”

Peter nodded and handed Mark the capful of medicine. The sick man eyed the red liquid inside distastefully but drank it anyway, grimacing as he did so. He handed the cap back to Peter, who put it back on the medicine and placed it aside. The detective checked his watch. His lunch break had been over for fifteen minutes, but he was in no hurry to return to the station. He looked back up at Mark, who had laid down again, looking a little more relaxed than before.

“The meds starting to kick in?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” Mark replied. 

His face twitched again. Peter had never seen someone with these kinds of tics before. He brought his knees up to his chest and watched Mark start to relax. He’d stopped shivering and his face softened a little. He tossed some of his messy hair off his face and looked at Peter a tad uncertainly.

“Why are you still here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”

“I’m in no hurry,” Peter replied with a shrug. “Work’s been boring these last few weeks anyway. They don’t really need me there. Or want me, really, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asked. “You’re a detective, right? I’d imagine you’re always needed.”

Peter shrugged again. “Always needed, perhaps not always wanted. I’m only in Blackpool because of a case about a year ago. I was called in as a special consultant and just never left.” He placed his chin in his hand and stared at Mark. “What about you, Mark? Where are you from? What’s your story?”

He saw a spark of fear in Mark’s eyes and his facial tics started up again faster. He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair and sat up a little, rubbing his forearms. Peter could tell that for whatever reason, this was a sensitive subject. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he told Mark quickly. 

“No, it’s-it’s fine, I guess,” Mark said slowly. “It’s better than other things you could be asking I suppose.” He coughed softly and cursed.

Peter raised both his eyebrows. What did that mean? He decided not to press. He wanted Mark to open up slowly at his own pace.

“I lived near London for years,” Mark explained. “I only just came to Blackpool a month ago and found this place.”

“You said you had a job before,” Peter said. “What did you do?”

Mark hesitated, licking his lips. “I was an architect for years, but I lost my job to the same guy I trained.”

“That sucks,” Peter said, genuinely. “I’m sorry, Mark. Is that why you came to Blackpool? To find a different job?”

Again he saw fear flash in Mark’s eyes. He blinked and ruffled his hair anxiously, looking around the room. He yawned suddenly and sighed, scrubbing his hands across his face. Peter couldn’t tell if he was faking it or not.

“I’m tired,” Mark said. “I think I should try to sleep now that I’ve stopped coughing.”

Peter could tell that this was meant to elude him from further questions and he decided enough was enough for today. He stood up and picked up the empty bag.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be leaving now. Get some rest and take your meds, yeah? I’ll come check on you tomorrow morning before work. Remember to use the blanket.”

He started to leave the flat as Mark laid down on his side, putting his back to the door. Peter lingered in the doorway for a second, watching. He couldn’t explain what or why he was drawn to Mark Furness. He just was. It was like earlier that day when Blythe had questioned him.

“Why do you care so much as this guy?” Blythe had asked. 

“I don’t know,” Peter had replied. “I just do.”


	6. Chapter 6

Mark slept warmly and soundly for once. He wrapped himself in the electric blanket Peter had bought for him and curled up on his cot. The blanket was soft and incredibly warm. Mark sighed as he closed his eyes, feeling relaxed now that the medicine had started to kick in. Peter’s doctor friend had been really nice and hadn’t once said anything about his mental state. He was grateful for that. The last thing he needed was to be outed as crazy to Peter, who probably thought he was nuts enough as it was.

‘He’d probably call some asylum somewhere and have me committed,’ Mark thought with a shudder.

He still didn’t quite understand why Peter was being so nice to him. After all, Mark had hit him with a bottle when they’d first met. Not exactly a great first impression. But Peter hadn’t seemed that mad about it, only surprised, and he’d gotten the officers who’d attacked Mark fired. Maybe he was just a genuinely nice person and wasn’t trying to manipulate or use Mark. But he still wasn’t sure he fully trusted Peter yet. 

Mark pondered that as he fell asleep and didn’t wake once, unperturbed by the cold that often seemed into his flat late at night or the city noise. The next morning, Mark woke up early and heard a car pulling up outside the building. He sat up to go and look out the window to see who it was, but the air was cold and the pain and coughs had returned. Mark grimaced and laid back, pulling the heated blanket more tightly around himself as he heard a car door shut.

“Mark?” Peter called from downstairs. “I’m coming up, okay?”

Mark tried to answer but coughed instead, hissing at the pain that lanced through his chest. Were broken ribs supposed to be this painful? Maybe when they weren’t coupled with pneumonia. Mark heard footfalls outside the door, stairs creaking loudly as Peter approached the flat door and knocked lightly.

“Mark?” he asked. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Mark croaked, his throat feeling dry as sand. “The door’s open.”

Peter came into the room, dressed similar to yesterday-blue jeans and navy peacoat, his I.D. card hanging from a cloth lanyard on his neck. He was balancing a cardboard drink holder on top of a white to-go box as he shut the door behind him. He smiled when he saw Mark and crouched down beside the bed.

“Morning,” he greeted. “How do you feel?”

“Not much better,” Mark admitted. “But I haven’t taken my meds yet. What time is it?”

Peter checked his watch. “Half past eight. Sorry I’m here so early, but I just wanted to check on you before work.”

“It’s okay,” Mark said. 

Peter smiled again and sat back as he offered Mark one of the drinks he’d brought. Mark sat up slowly and took it, feeling it warm his palm. He sniffed it cautiously.

“It’s just tea with honey and lemon,” Peter said. “I thought it might help warm you up a bit and soothe your throat.”

Mark took a sip and sighed as the warm liquid coated his throat, soothing the scratchiness and warming him from the inside. He hadn’t had decent tea in a long time. He drank more as he watched Peter take the only other cup from the holder and remove the lid. Mark could smell coffee as steam wafted up from the cup. Peter tore open a small packet with his teeth and poured some sugar into the coffee, then stirred it around with a plastic strip before taking a sip.

“I brought some breakfast too,” he said, picking up the to-go box.

He opened it and removed two covered bowls and handed one to Mark. The sick man peeled back the covering and inhaled the sweet scents of cinnamon and sugared oatmeal. Mark’s stomach growled at the smell. Peter handed him some wrapped silverware and Mark opened them and started eating. He sighed as he savored the sweetness and warmth the food provided. Most of the food he ate he got from the local soup kitchen and it was usually leftovers that he stored in the fridge in the other flat. He hadn’t a warm, decent meal in a long time.

He watched as Peter ate his own oatmeal, his tongue darting out to lick the remnants of sugar off his spoon. His brown hair matched his eyes, which stood out because of his dark jacket, but also seemed kind of downtrodden and sad. Mark swallowed the last of his breakfast and took his antibiotics with a swig of his tea. Peter finished his breakfast as well and packed up their rubbish into a backpack he’d brought with him.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Mark told him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a hot meal like that.”

“You’re welcome.” Peter replied. “I figured you could do with some decent food.”

Mark smiled a little but felt his face tic. He fought down the urge to curse but it was too strong and he covered it with a cough into his elbow. It was one of the many ways over the years he’d learned to hide his Tourette’s. He waited for his tics to die down a little before he faced Peter again. The detective was watching with a look of concern on his face, his brow furrowed.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “That sounded worse than yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” Mark said. “It’s just that coughing makes my ribs hurt more, but the doctor warned me not to hold them in or I could make the pneumonia worse.”

“Yeah, he told me that too,” Peter agreed. “Hopefully the medicine he gave you will start working soon and once the sickness goes away, your ribs won’t hurt as much as they heal.”

Mark nodded, feeling suddenly tired. He laid down and pulled the heated blanket over his bruised body again. Peter watched him and checked his watch again. He sighed and gathered his backpack again. 

“I have to get to work now,” he told Mark. “But I’ll come check on you either on my lunch break or when I get off later tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Mark answered. “Thanks.”

Peter nodded and turned to leave, but stopped just short of the door and turned back around. He reached into his jeans pocket and removed a small cellphone. He came back over and set it down beside Mark’s cot.

“This cellphone has my number in it as well as the number for the station,” Peter explained. “Call if you need anything, alright?”

Mark was shocked but touched by the gesture. “Alright. Thank you, Peter.”

“Get some rest, Mark,” Peter said. “I’ll be back later.”

He left the flat and vanished from sight, Mark closed his eyes and fell asleep again. He slept on and off throughout the day, only waking to change position or use the working bathroom in the flat across from his. He turned on the cellphone and was tempted to just text Peter, but didn’t want to bother him. Mark felt more comfortable around Peter, as long as he could keep his tics and cursing hidden. He could tell that Peter was intrigued by his mannerisms but hadn’t called Mark out on it.

‘Maybe he hasn’t actually noticed,’ Mark thought hopefully. 

He rolled over in his cot and took a drink of water from one of the bottles Peter had bought for him. He was being so nice, nicer than what Mark had expected from a detective and at first, a stranger. But what if he still had some sort of endgame? What if he was like Gareth, using Mark because he wanted something? The name made Mark sick to his stomach and his tics sped up slightly, his eyes watering as he blinked, his face aching as it twitched.

He sighed and rubbed his jaw, feeling how coarse and tangled his facial hair was. But what was the point of looking good or fixing himself when he had nobody in his life anymore? He grimaced harder as he thought of Stevie, of Charlotte. He wondered if Peter had someone. A wife, perhaps. Or even a husband. Mark wasn’t one to judge.

‘He doesn’t have a ring though,’ Mark thought, stroking the ring finger on his left hand. ‘Maybe that’s why he seems so sad.’

Mark pondered that as he fell asleep again and only woke up when he heard a knock on his door. He sat up and looked out the window, the setting sun casting shadows into his flat. 

“Come in,” Mark called groggily, rubbing his eyes.

Peter came into the room, a paper bag hanging off his arm as he shut the door. He looked kind of worn out but grinned nonetheless when he saw Mark.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry if I woke you, but I just got off work and wanted to check in before going home.” He held up the bag. “I brought dinner, if you want.”

Mark smiled a little. “Thanks. That sounds good actually.”

Peter sat down next to Mark’s cot and removed some boxes from the bag, handing one to Mark along with another drink and some silverware. They ate their shares of tomato soup and bread as the sun continued to set and evening came, stars glinting to life in the sky. Peter put their rubbish into the bag and sat back against the wall beside Mark’s cot, bringing his knees up to his chest with a sigh.

“You okay?” Mark asked, sensing something off about the detective’s demeanor. 

“Yeah,” Peter replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I just got into another argument with some twit at work and got yelled at by the chief again. No big deal.”

“Sounds like a big deal,” Mark said. 

Peter ran a hand through his already-tousled hair. “It’s fine. I’ve just been having a hard time controlling my temper these last couple years.”

Mark arched his eyebrows. Peter didn’t strike him as someone who got angry very easily, but he supposed he’d only known the man for a few days. Mark took his evening dose of medicine and watched Peter scroll through his phone. Mark wasn’t sure what time it was, but it was probably late.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?” Mark asked him.

“Eager to be rid of me, eh?” Peter teased with a grin. 

Mark blushed and brushed some of his hair off his face. “N-no, I just figured that, you know, you had to get home.”

Peter chuckled and put his phone away. “Nah, not really. I don’t have anything or anybody waiting at home. Haven’t in a long time. Not since….” He trailed off and bit his lower lip as he looked away.

“Not since what?” Mark asked gently. 

“Natalie,” Peter whispered, staring at the wall. “Not since Natalie.”

“Who was she?” Mark asked. “Your wife? Your girlfriend?”

“No, she was….” Peter stopped and sighed, seemingly unable to find the right words. “I don’t know what she was.”

His voice held the same sadness that Mark himself felt whenever he thought about Stevie or Charlotte. He wasn’t sure what to say and felt his cheek twitch as he ticked. Peter ruffled a hand through his hair again and stood up, gathering his things. 

“I should go,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Mark replied. “Goodnight.”

Peter left the flat, but as he closed the door, Mark spoke again. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said. “For whatever happened with her, I’m sorry.”

Peter turned to Mark and offered him a sad, wry grin. “Thanks, Mark. So am I.”

He left without another word and Mark could only imagine what it was like, going home to a cold, empty flat. He sighed and laid down, rubbing his bruised chest as he studied his architecture pictures on the wall, listing off the facts about them in his head to relax himself as he drifted off to sleep, his mind also on Peter and who exactly Natalie was.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter showed up outside Mark’s building again the next morning, bringing with him some tea for Mark and coffee for himself, along with some warm breakfast sandwiches in another to-go box from a diner a few blocks away. The early morning chill cut through Peter’s jacket as he entered the building and climbed the stairs to Mark’s flat. He was still thinking about yesterday, when he’d told Mark about Natalie. Peter hadn’t talked about her in years, hadn’t even said her name for that long either. Mark had asked whether she had been his wife or his girlfriend. 

“I don’t know what she was,” Peter had answered.

And he still didn’t. Had they been lovers? In love? Friends with benefits? He wasn’t sure. Maybe they had been two people who needed what someone else was willing to provide. Natalie had been starved of love and touch from her husband and Peter hadn’t been with anyone in years before her anyway. They’d both just needed….relief, he supposed. And then she’d left him, taking a part of his heart with her. Peter wasn’t sure where she was now and didn’t have the courage or nerve to look for her. She’d moved on and he needed to as well. He was just having trouble.

“I’m sorry,” Mark had said. “For whatever happened with her, Peter, I’m sorry.”

He’d said that with such genuine sympathy and empathy in his eyes. Had he been abandoned by a loved one too? Peter had seen the faint line on his ring finger the other day. He’d been married at one point. What happened to his wife? Did she leave him or did he leave her? Peter still had so many questions regarding Mark’s life but didn’t want to press and scare him away. The detective shook his head as he reached Mark’s door and knocked gently.

“Mark?” he asked. “You awake?”

There was no answer. Peter frowned and put his ear to the door. He could hear whimpering, crying, fast, raspy breathing. It sounded like Mark was in trouble. Peter panicked and quickly opened the door, entering the room. Mark was still in bed, tucked beneath the electric blanket, but he was on his back, his face contorted with fear and panic. His breathing was labored and raspy, and he squirmed around like he was trying to get away from something. 

“S-stop,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone! It hurts, please stop! I’m not crazy!”

Peter quickly set his stuff down and hurried over to Mark, kneeling down on the ground beside the cot. 

“Mark, wake up,” he urged. “You’re having a nightmare, mate. It’s not real. Wake up, mate.”

Mark’s face twitched beneath his hair, sweat dripping down his brow. One of his hands came up and nearly hit Peter in the eye, but he dodged and grabbed Mark’s wrist, using his other hand to shake Mark’s shoulder gently. 

“Mark, come on, snap out of it,” he said. “Wake up.”

The sick man’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, coughing and breathing heavily and cursing. He looked at Peter but his eyes were glassy and unfocused.

“Stevie?” he asked.

“No, Mark, it’s me,” Peter replied. “Peter Carlisle, remember? I’m your friend. You were having a nightmare.”

Mark blinked and shook his head, brushing some hair off his face. Peter reached out and touched the other man’s brow. It was hot and slick with sweat.

“Jesus, your fever’s through the bloody roof,” Peter muttered. “Where are your meds?”

Mark shakily pointed to the bottles next to the cot. Peter grabbed the fever meds and tapped some into his palm. He handed them and a bottle of water to Mark, who managed to take them along with his antibiotics. 

“I’m tired,” Mark murmured, slumping back down against his pillow.

“Go to sleep, Mark,” Peter said. “I’m not leaving.”

He watched Mark’s eyes fall closed and heard his breathing start to even out. Peter sighed and sat back against the wall, bringing his knees up to his chest. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Blythe, telling him to tell the chief that he’d be a little late. He didn’t specify why and put his phone back in his pocket, watching Mark sleep. He slept for a solid hour and his fever eventually went down as the medicine kicked in. He groaned as he woke up and rubbed his eyes as he sat up.

“Hey,” Peter said. “How do you feel?”

“Better, I think,” Mark replied. “But what happened?”

“I came here and found you having a nightmare,” Peter explained. “Your fever was pretty high and you were confused. I gave you your meds to help make sure it went down.”

“Thanks,” Mark said. He licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I said or did anything during that hurt or offended you.”

“You didn’t,” Peter promised. “But what were you dreaming about?”

Mark sighed shakily and wrung his hands. “I was dreaming about when those other officers attacked me, but in a different way.”  
“Different how?” Peter asked. 

“Stevie was there,” Mark answered, so softly he was almost inaudible. 

“Who’s Stevie?” Peter asked. “You called me that when you first woke up.”

Mark bit his lower lip so hard Peter thought it would draw blood. He opened his mouth to say something but Peter’s phone chirped loudly and interrupted him. Peter cursed and grabbed it from his pocket.

“Damn it, I have to leave,” he said. “I’m already an hour late and Allbright will have my hide if I don’t get there now.”

“You’ve been here for an hour?” Mark asked, sounding shocked. 

“I wasn’t going to leave you when you weren’t even coherent and your fever was spiking out of control,” Peter said. 

“Oh,” Mark replied. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Peter said. “I’ll be back this evening.” He placed the breakfast he’d brought within Mark’s reach. “This has gone cold now, but you still need to eat.”

Mark nodded and Peter gathered his stuff and left the flat, preparing himself for the lecture he was bound to get by Allbright. As he drove to the station though, his mind drifted to Mark and his nightmare. Who was Stevie? 

Hours later, Peter returned to Mark’s flat again, a bag of dinner hanging off his arm as he knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” Mark called.

Peter entered and found him sitting him up in his cot, studying the pictures of buildings he had plastered among the newspapers on the wall. He turned as Peter shut the door and faced him.

“You look better,” Peter said. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Mark answered. “My fever hasn’t come back and the coughing is better too.”

“That’s great to hear,” Peter said, sitting down on the floor. “You hungry?”

Mark nodded. Peter smiled and handed him a box of Ramen noodles. He wasn’t sure if Mark would like them but the other man dug in quickly. Peter followed suit and the next few minutes passed by in silence as they ate. Mark finished first and wiped his lips as he set the empty box aside.

“You didn’t get yelled at by your chief too bad, did you?” he asked Peter.

“Nah,” Peter replied, shaking his head. “He lectured me but didn’t yell really. I’ve only been late a couple times and I promised I’d be on time tomorrow. Didn’t stop him from making me stay later filling out paperwork.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said, sounding guilty. “It’s my fault you were late.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Peter told him. “I made the choice to stay here with you this morning and I knew the consequences. It’s nobody’s fault. Especially since I haven’t had much to do anyway because of how low the crime rate has been.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Mark said. “Most people would say a low crime rate is a good thing.”

“It’s a good thing unless you’re a detective,” Peter replied. “Low crime equals less hours and less money. Crime is how I make my living in a way.”

Mark laughed and so did Peter. He’d never heard Mark laugh before. Or seen him smile much either. Peter looked around at the wall, at the pictures there. Some looked like they had been taken from magazines and others looked like they’d been printed out.

“What are these pictures for?” he asked Mark. 

“They’re pictures of famous architecture,” Mark replied. “I used to be an architect. Studying them and learning about them helps relax me.”

“So, you know everything about these places?” Peter asked. “Like who built them and when?”

“Yes,” Mark confirmed. 

“No way,” Peter said.

“I’ll prove it,” Mark replied. “Quiz me.”

Peter arched an eyebrow. “Alright.” He stood up and looked around before walking over and pointing to a picture of an enormous castle surrounded by trees and rolling green hills. “What’s this?”

“Bran’s Castle in Romania,” Mark answered. “It serves as a national landmark and a museum dedicated to art and furniture collected by Queen Marie. It’s also known outside Romania as ‘Dracula’s Castle.’

“Wow,” Peter said. He pointed to a picture right below that of a large cathedral with two tall towers. “What about this one?”

“Cologne Cathedral in Germany,” Mark replied easily. “It’s construction started in 1248 but stopped around 1560, then resumed and was completed by 1880. It was declared a World Heritage sight in 1996 and is currently the tallest twin-spired church in the world, the second tallest church in Europe, and third tallest church in the world.”

Peter scoffed in amazement and walked over to the other side of the room, pointing at a picture of a building with a small waterfall running beneath it. “Last one.”

“Fallingwater in Pennsylvania, United States,” Mark answered. “It was built in 1935 by Frank Lloyd Wright. It was built partly over a waterfall on Bear Run in the Mill Run section of Stewart Township, Fayette County, Pennsylvania.”

Peter smiled and shook his head, impressed. “That’s amazing. You know more about architecture than any other architect I’ve met.”

“How many have you met?” Mark asked.

“Not one as brilliant as you,” Peter replied. 

He meant that as a sincere compliment and noticed how Mark rubbed his neck and looked away, almost looking bashful. Peter sat down beside the cot again and watched him.

“Thanks,” Mark said. “No one’s ever said that before.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied. “What else do you like to do besides memorize facts about architecture?”

Mark looked over at Peter again, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know. Architecture was kind of my whole life. I loved it, but my favourite part was drawing and sketching the blueprints and design plans. Most days things are done online but I always prefer doing things manually before putting technology in charge.”

“Could you still draw?” Peter asked.

“I think so,” Mark admitted. “But it’s been so long I’m not sure how good I’d be.” He licked his lips. “I always wanted to travel and see some of these places.” He gestured around at the pictures. “But….Stevie never wanted to travel far from home.”

There was that name again. Mark said it with the same kind of pain and reluctance and reverence that Peter used with Natalie’s name.

“Who’s Stevie?” Peter asked gently. “You called me that when your fever was high.”

Mark licked his lips again and his face twitched, his eyes blinking rapidly. Peter noticed that they’d been fine up until now. He hadn’t even cursed in a long time either. 

“She was my wife,” Mark replied quietly. 

Peter could sense all the pain and hurt in that statement, and decided he shouldn’t press any further.

“You should get some rest,” he told Mark. “I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

Mark nodded mutely, rubbing his forearms. Peter picked up his stuff and left the flat, lingering at the door. He turned back to Mark.

“Hey,” he said.

Mark turned to look at him. 

“Whatever happened with Stevie, Mark, I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“It’s okay,” Mark replied. “It was my fault anyway.”

He laid down with his back to Peter without another word. The detective bit his lip and left the flat, returned to his own, but found he couldn’t sleep and moved to the couch, where he spent the next few hours on his laptop, looking at pictures of famous buildings and other architecture, until he fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next few weeks, Mark’s condition improved. Every morning Peter showed up before work, bringing with him breakfast for the both of them and tea for Mark to take his medicine with. Afterward the detective would go to work and Mark would pass the time by studying his architecture pictures or sleeping off his medicine. He still had the mobile Peter had given him, but could never bring himself to text Peter. He didn’t want to bother him. He was still coughing but no longer coughing up blood. His ribs were healing and his bruises were fading, making it easier for him to breathe.

Each evening after work, Peter would come back and bring dinner. They would eat and mostly engage in small talk. Mark mostly let Peter talk though. His life sounded much more exciting than Mark’s. The former architect liked listening to the other man talk anyway. Peter’s Scottish accent was smooth and lilting when he spoke. He talked about being a detective with the same passion Mark used to about being an architect. But at the same time, Mark sensed a hidden sadness in him. Though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint, Mark felt like it had something to do with that woman Peter had talked about once. Natalie.

He’d said that name with such reverence and pain. Whoever she was, she’d obviously been very dear to Peter. Mark knew how he felt. Losing Stevie had been painful enough, but losing Charlotte had been devastating. It was the reason Mark was in Blackpool in the first place. He needed to be far away from the places where his memories about both of them were. Far away from the pain and heartache. Mark sighed and ran his fingers through his tangled hair, studying a picture of the Colosseum, another place he’d always wanted to see in person. He reached up and ran his fingertips lightly across the picture. 

“Mark?” Peter asked.

He turned around and found the detective standing in the doorway of the flat, wearing blue jeans and his usual jacket over a button-down shirt. His brown hair was tousled in a way that looked like it was on purpose and his dark eyes were watching Mark curiously.

“Peter,” Mark said. “Hey. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m off today,” Peter replied with a shrug. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Mark answered. “I finished the last antibiotic yesterday and I think the pneumonia is gone. My ribs and chest feel better too.”

“That great to hear,” Peter said with a smile. “So, I was wondering that since you’re feeling better, do you want to go out for a little bit?”

Mark blanched and felt his tics start up again. He wrung his hands nervously.

“Go out?” he echoed. “Where? Why?”

“You’ve been holed up in here for weeks,” Peter replied with a shrug. “Fresh air might do you some good.”

Mark’s face twitched and covered a swear with a cough. He rubbed his neck and cleared his throat. “Where would we go?”

“Nowhere you don’t want to,” Peter explained. “There’s a seaside area nearby. It should be fairly deserted this early in the day. We can get some breakfast while we're there too if you like.”

Mark hesitated. He didn’t like going out in public. He always felt like people were staring at him, wondering why he was twitching. He stayed silent for so long that Peter’s smile faded and he frowned a little. 

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he said. “I won’t make you do something you don’t want to do.”

Mark licked his lips and looked up into Peter’s earnest gaze. 

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to go out for a bit,” Mark admitted. 

Peter’s smile returned and his eyes gleamed. Mark managed a small grin in return. He picked up his worn flannel jacket and followed Peter downstairs and outside to his car. They got inside and Mark settled into the passenger seat, running his hands along the leather armrests. It had been a long time since he’d ridden in a car. Peter’s was clean albeit for the backseat, which was littered with paper cups and food wrappers. He jumped a little when Peter started the car and started driving. 

“You okay?” the detective asked. “You can turn the radio on if you like.”

“Thanks,” Mark replied. 

He made no move to turn on the radio though and stared out the window instead, watching the buildings and other cars whiz by as Peter drove. It took only ten minutes before they reached the seaside. Thankfully, it was fairly empty like Peter had said it would be, just a few people walking on the pier and eating at the various restaurants around or playing football on the shore. Mark and Peter exited the car and stood at the edge of the parking lot that separated the city from the beach.

“Told you it’d be empty,” Peter said. He turned to Mark. “You want to just walk along the waterfront?”

“Sure,” Mark answered, twiddling his thumbs.

They started walking alongside each other. The wind blew and carried with it the smells of the sea and salt. Peter tucked his hands into his jacket while Mark kept his in front of him, anxiously wringing them while his face ticked beneath the fall of his hair. He felt like the few people at the beach were staring at them and he could only imagine what a strange contrast he must have been to Peter, so well-dressed and tall and handsome and put-together. Mark felt heat rise in his face and felt his tics speed up. 

“Are you okay?” Peter inquired suddenly. “You’re twitching more than usual.”

Mark cursed, his face heating up even more. “Yeah, I’m fine, I guess. It’s just been awhile since I’ve been out in public like this.” He glanced around and noticed a few people were staring at them. “I can walk a little further from you if you want.”

“What for?” Peter asked incredulously.

Mark gestured to the observers. Peter looked at them and scowled. 

“What are you staring at?” he shouted. “Never seen friends taking a walk together? Go gawk at something else.”

The people walked off and Mark stared at Peter in amazement. The detective looked back at him.

“Taken care of,” he said.

“You don’t care about being seen in public with me?” Mark asked. “What about your reputation?”

Peter snorted. “My reputation around here is already tarnished. Nothing can really make it worse. Besides, I don’t mind people seeing us in public together. I’ve never been one to care about what others think of me. If they don’t like me they dislike me all they want and I can dislike them all I want. And life goes on.”

Mark suddenly admired Peter a lot more. He’d always been weary of what others thought of him. He strived to get people to like him and it was a fruitless task at times. But Peter didn’t care at all about things like that. He was his own person, confident and calm. Mark moved to walk a little closer to the detective, feeling protected by him. They walked until they reached the end of the pier and looked out across the water. Peter went over to a food cart and bought them both some breakfast sandwiches and drinks, then came back over. Peter sat on the railing while Mark leaned against it as they ate.

“I feel guilty about all the money you’ve been spending buying me food,” Mark said, sipping his tea. 

“I know,” Peter replied. “Normally I’d have taken you on a few dates first.”

Mark choked and blushed while Peter laughed. Mark wiped his lips and tossed his rubbish in the nearby can. Peter followed suit and studied Mark for a minute.

“Sorry if that joke made you uncomfortable,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Mark replied. “Though I think you have a point. You’ve bought me at least several dates’ worth of meals.”

“Well, maybe you can repay me someday with a meal of my own,” Peter suggested playfully. 

Mark smiled. “Okay.”

Peter grinned back. Mark tried to but felt his face tic and groaned as he turned away, trying to hide it. 

“Why do you do that?” Peter asked. “The twitching and blinking and stuff.”

Mark didn’t respond for several minutes. He trusted Peter now. The man had helped him and defended him. Surely he wouldn’t bolt if Mark told him about his problems? Mark sighed and turned back to face Peter.

“I have Tourette’s syndrome and OCD,” Mark explained. 

“I’ve heard of OCD,” Peter said musingly. “But what’s Tourette’s?”

“It’s a neurological disorder,” Mark explained. “It’s why I twitch and blink all the time. It’s also why I sometimes bark and curse. I can’t really control it.”

“Wow,” Peter breathed. “Does it ever hurt?” He sounded concerned.

“My face can ache sometimes because of the tics,” Mark answered. “My eyes get dry from the blinking and stuff, but other than that it’s painless.”

Peter nodded. “But nothing helps? Don’t they make meds for that sort of stuff?”

Mark licked his lips again. “I was on meds for a while, but….” He trailed off as he stared across the beach. 

Peter arched an eyebrow but didn’t press. Mark could tell he wanted to though and appreciated the fact that he didn’t. The detective cleared his throat and reached into one of the pockets in his jacket.

“That reminds me,” he said. “I got you something.”

Mark turned away from the beach and looked back at Peter. The detective handed him a pad of paper as well as a notebook and some pens and pencils. Mark’s eyes widened and he pushed his hair off his face, looking up at Peter in shock.

“You told me you used to draw but weren’t sure you’d be any good anymore,” Peter explained. “I thought you’d like to try again.”

Mark slowly reached out and took the gifts. “Thank you, Peter.”

“You’re welcome, Mark,” he replied with another smile.

Mark held the supplies reverently. It had been a long time since he’d drawn anything. He needed a muse, a subject. He hadn’t had one since Charlotte. Mark looked down at the notebook, wondering what he would draw first.


	9. Chapter 9

Peter was on his way to see Mark when he found Blythe in the parking lot, leaning up against his car. The detective froze and stared at his partner.

“Can I help you?” Peter asked.

“You're still hanging out with that homeless guy?” Blythe asked. 

“Yes,” Peter answered. “Mark is my friend. He’s a nice guy.”

“You told me he’s crazy,” Blythe protested. “All the cursing and twitching and stuff. What would you want with a bloke like that?”

“He’s not crazy,” Peter retorted angrily. “He has OCD and Tourette’s syndrome. Those are real mental illnesses. He can’t help them. Now get off of my car or I’ll be late.”

Blythe uncrossed his arms and moved out of the way. Peter unlocked his car and started to get inside.

“Wait,” Blythe said before Peter could drive away. 

“What?” Peter asked.

Blythe handed him a folder through the open window. “New case that the chief wanted me to give you. We thought it might interest you.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, taking the folder. “I’ll look at it later.”

Blythe nodded and backed away from the car. Peter drove away before he could say anything else. He felt a little irritated at his partner. Blythe was the only person whom Peter had told about Mark and only because he’d kept asking where Peter kept disappearing too twice everyday. Blythe hadn’t told anybody else as far as Peter could tell, but his partner had expressed his concerns about Mark and it irritated the detective. Why couldn’t anybody see past Mark’s illness? Why was that all they saw rather than the man?

Peter shook his head and kept driving. He’d done research on Tourette’s last night in his flat and learned a lot. Now Mark’s facial tics and his cursing made more sense. Peter noticed that they flared up more when he was nervous or agitated. He wondered if anything helped calm the tics and added that to his list of questions. Peter reached Mark’s flat and was shocked to see Mark sitting outside the building, waiting. He stood up when Peter’s car approached and came over.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” Peter asked as Mark came over. 

“I was waiting for you,” Mark replied. “I was wondering if we could maybe go to the seaside again.”

“Sure,” Peter answered. “Hop in.”

Mark settled into the passenger seat and Peter drove them to the seaside. He was shocked that Mark wanted to be in public again but didn’t mind. He would give a piece of his mind to anyone who stared at them like those idiots the other day. Peter glanced at Mark, who was staring out the window, tapping his fingers against the armrest. He looked healthier than he had looked when he and Peter had first met, and he even seemed less skittish. Around Peter anyway. 

They reached the seaside in a few minutes and stepped out. It was fairly crowded along the pier but the waterfront was empty. Mark twiddled his thumbs together anxiously. 

“Don’t worry,” Peter told him. “Like I said yesterday, I don’t mind being seen in public with you.”

Mark relaxed. “Okay.”

As they began walking, Peter noticed that the area seemed familiar. He also noticed that Mark was looking around a lot.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m fine,” Mark replied. “I-I just…” He sighed deeply. “I had a bad dream earlier this morning. I wanted to get out of my flat for a while, clear my head.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said sincerely. “Was it….about the attack again?”

Mark silently nodded. Peter slowly reached out, hesitating before very lightly touching Mark’s shoulder. They stopped walking and Mark slowly looked up into Peter’s face, his eyes shining behind the fall of his hair. Peter resisted the urge to brush it aside for him and instead squeezed the other man’s shoulder gently. They stopped walking and had reached an oddly familiar part of the seaside. Peter looked around and felt his heart drop to his stomach when he saw what was at the end of the waterfront.

“Are you alright?” Mark asked. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Peter blinked. “Y-yeah. Sorry. Let’s keep going.”

They walked a little longer before they reached an empty pier. Peter bought them both some fish and chips from a nearby food vendor and returned to where Mark was standing, watching the seagulls fighting over food on the sand. He took his food from Peter but didn’t start eating and just picked at it, his tics almost constant. Peter watched him closely.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

Mark shook his head and Peter could tell his mind was still on the nightmare he’d had. 

“You can talk to me about it if you want,” Peter told him. “It might make you feel better.”

Mark’s face ticked several times before he sighed. “I was being attacked by those officers again. My whole body felt like I was being hit with hammers. I was yelling for help but nobody would come. The worst part was that….” He swallowed. “Was that Stevie and Charlotte were there, watching but not helping me.”

Peter watched as Mark tried to hurriedly brush some tears away as his voice cracked. He had mentioned Stevie before but the name Charlotte was new. 

“Stevie was your wife, right?” Peter asked gently. 

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “We’ve been separated for a few years now. She-she didn’t have the patience for my problems, even though I tried to get better. And I guess I was for a little bit, because I found this support group and met other people like me. But...that wasn’t enough for Stevie. She left me for Gareth, the guy I lost my job to.”

“Jesus,” Peter said. “I’m so sorry, Mark.” He heard the guilty tone in his voice and squeezed his friend’s shoulder again. “You know that’s not your fault, right? If Stevie didn’t have the patience or understanding about your illness, then maybe you were better off without her. You should find someone who loves you despite all of that.”

“I did have someone like that,” Mark admitted. “Her name was Charlotte. She was like me, ran the support group I found. She looked after me when I was at my lowest point after Stevie left me. I tried to get Stevie back one more time before I realized that Charlotte loved me more than my ex wife ever could. We were together for a year before….I left her.”

“You left her?” Peter asked. “Why?”

“She was doing better than I was on medication and had begun playing the violin again,” Mark explained. “One day, a man heard her performing from our flat and asked her if she wanted to begin performing live. She said yes but I was scared of traveling, of moving around all the time, but I didn’t want Charlotte to miss out on anything because she was tethered to me. So I let her go.”

“Wow,” Peter breathed. “That must have been hard to let her go.”

“It was,” Mark answered. “But I believe it was for the best. For her, anyway.”

Peter was shocked at what Mark had just shared with him. No wonder he seemed to be so sad and alone. Now Peter realized why he felt connected to Mark. Because they had both been abandoned by people they loved. 

“Thanks for telling me, Mark,” Peter told him. “I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.”

“Really?” Mark looked up at him. “How?”

Peter sighed and nodded behind Mark. “See that arcade there?”

Mark turned toward a shoddy arcade building, the windows boarded up, the paint peeling and chipped. 

“What about it?” Mark asked, turning back to Peter.

“A couple years ago, when that place opened up, there was a murder there,” Peter explained. “The guy who ran it found a dead body inside it and called the police. I was brought in as a special consultant. The owner was an arse, but he had this wife named Natalie. She was beautiful and smart and starved from love. Just like I was, I guess.”

“You were involved with her?” Mark asked. “While she was married?”

“Yes,” Peter answered. “At first she brushed me off because she was married, but eventually we got together and kept doing it the whole time that case was going on. I loved her. And I thought she loved me.”

“You thought she did?” Mark asked. “What happened?”

Peter sighed, his chest beginning to ache with a familiar pain. “After the murder was solved and the case was closed, she filed for divorce and separated from her husband. She moved in with me and things were great for a couple months, but something….changed. I think she liked the idea of us having an affair more than actually being with me. Now that we were free, the excitement for her was gone. We started arguing a lot and well, she moved out of my flat and eventually left Blackpool. I’m not sure where she is now.”

Mark seemed stunned into silence. Peter didn’t cry. He hadn’t wept for Natalie in a long time, but still thinking about her made his heart hurt. He licked his lips and tossed the remnants of his and Mark’s food into the trash. 

“Thank you for telling me, Peter,” Mark said finally. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only man who’s had his heart broken.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. He ran a hand through his hair. “Want to head back? I have a case file I need to look over.”

“Sure,” Mark said.

Ten minutes later, they were back in Mark’s flat, Peter sipping one of the bottles of lager he’d bought on the way there, studying his new case, while Mark sat on his bed, scribbling in his notebook. Peter adjusted his glasses as he read the case. It was interesting, a string of vandalism and burglaries going on in several neighborhoods. Not really any evidence but plenty of witnesses describing three men dressed in dark clothes and masks. Peter drained his drink and set it beside the other bottle. He could hear Mark scribbling away and looked over at him.

He couldn’t see what Mark was drawing, but whatever it was, it had his full attention. Peter smiled a little then yawned, pushing his glasses up off his face to rub his eyes. The setting sun filled the room with an orange glow. The alcohol made his body feel warm and tingly. 

“You tired?” Mark asked, looking up from his drawing.

“Yeah, a little,” Peter admitted. “Haven’t been sleeping well for a while.”

“You can rest here for a little bit, so you can drive home,” Mark offered. “It might be the most comfortable place but…” He trailed off.

“That’s a good idea,” Peter agreed. “I shouldn’t drive home like this anyway.”

Mark offered him the pillow from his bed. Peter took it and removed his glasses, then laid down and closed his eyes, feeling himself drifting off already as he listened to the scratching of a pen against paper as Mark resumed his drawing again. 

When Peter woke later, the flat was darker. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, feeling a slight ache in his head from the alcohol. Mark was still awake, watching him from his bed. Peter offered him a smile.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“Two hours,” Mark replied. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked like you needed the rest.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, stretching, feeling more rested than when he slept at home. “But I guess I should be heading out now though.”

“Okay,” Mark answered.

Peter stood up and gathered his things, then turned to leave. 

“Wait,” Mark suddenly said.

Peter stopped and turned around. Mark stood up from his bed and padded over, stopping just in front of Peter. The detective could see the other man’s face twitching in the dim light before Mark suddenly threw his arms around him. Peter froze at first, caught off guard before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist, feeling how warm he was through his ratty clothes. They stayed like that for about two minutes before Mark slowly pulled away, looking bashful.

“Goodnight, Peter,” he said. “Thanks for listening to me today.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied. “Thanks for listening to me. Goodnight, Mark. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mark answered with a shy grin.


	10. Chapter 10

Peter returned to his flat and went through his usual nighttime routine, smiling to himself all the while. Mark had hugged him. Peter had never been a fan of hugs, but for some people he made an exception. He rinsed his mouth after brushing his teeth and dried his face with a towel. Mark had really opened up to him today, about his wife and Charlotte. Peter hadn’t spoken about Natalie in years, but telling Mark had been like lifting a weight off of his heart. It felt good to know that he wasn’t the only man to have his heart broken.

Peter left the bathroom and went to his bedroom. He felt rested after his nap at Mark’s flat but still. His back didn’t like spending night after night on the couch. He settled into bed and stared up at the ceiling, still thinking about Mark. He was so shy and reserved, but also seemed to be opening up, trusting Peter. It must have taken a lot of his courage to even hug Peter the way he had. The detective smiled again. He hadn’t had a good friend like this in a long time. Most people in Blackpool didn’t like him and hadn’t since the arcade case. Blythe was more his partner than friend. 

Peter wondered if Mark had had any friends to help him through the hard times. Surely he must have had some. He hadn’t mentioned anybody except Gareth, the guy he’d lost both his job and his wife to. Peter could only imagine how badly that must have hurt. It must have felt like the ultimate betrayal. No wonder Mark’s eyes seemed so sad and downtrodden. That was why it made Peter feel warm inside whenever he got Mark to smile or laugh. He couldn’t remember feeling that way with Natalie or anybody else. Peter pondered that and kept thinking about Mark’s smile before he finally fell asleep. 

A crashing sound broke Peter out of his deep sleep. He grumbled and blinked his eyes open in the dark, trying to get his bearings. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 2:45 A.M. Peter rubbed his eyes, wondering if he’d been dreaming, when he heard the noise again, louder. It sounded like someone was trying to break in. Peter bolted upright, his heart pulsing loudly in his ears. He grabbed his gun out of the nightstand and crept out of the bedroom, into the hallway, his finger resting on the trigger. He peered around the corner into the living room and saw nobody, but felt a draft and he shivered, goosebumps peppering his arms and chest.

One of the windows in the living was broken, glass littering the carpet, the curtains fluttering like ghosts in the breeze. Peter lowered the gun and approached the window. 

“What the hell?” he asked aloud. 

He looked down and spotted a brick laying a few feet away from the window, a piece of paper tied to it. Peter cautiously picked it up and untied the string to read the note. Written in thick black ink was, ‘Watch Your Back, Carlisle.’ Peter bit his lower lip, his hands crumpling the edge of the paper slightly. The phone rang and he yelled out, almost firing the gun. He set it down on the table and answered the phone, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Did you get our present, Carlisle?” a voice growled on the other end of the phone. Despite the distortion it sounded familiar.

“Logan,” Peter snarled. “What are you doing?”

“We told you you would pay for this, Carlisle,” Logan sneered. “You and your crazy boyfriend. And we’ll do a lot more than throw a brick through his window.”

“If you fucking go anywhere near Mark I’ll kill you,” Peter threatened. “Stay the hell away from him!”

“Or what?” Logan asked. 

“I’ll have you and your cronies arrested,” Peter growled. “Stay the fuck away from Mark. You can do whatever you want to me but don’t you even think about harming him. If I catch you anywhere near his flat and I’ll bloody kill you and your goons.”

Logan hummed mockingly. “Someone’s grown attached to the looney. I’ll make sure to tell the boys to send you pictures once they beat him up again.”

He hung up with an ominous click and Peter swore loudly. He rushed back to his bedroom and grabbed his mobile, searching frantically for the number of the one he’d given Mark. He found it and dialed quickly, pacing around the room as the dial tone sounded.

“Come on, come on,” Peter muttered, biting his fingernails anxiously. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mark answered.

“Hello?” he asked groggily.

Peter had never been so relieved to hear someone’s voice before.

“Mark, thank God,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied, sounding confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter licked his dry lips. He didn’t want to scare Mark, but also wanted him to be aware.

“Logan and his cronies are harassing me,” he explained. “One of them just tossed a brick through my window and Logan told me his goons were already at your flat.”

He heard Mark swallow. “They’re not here. Do you think they’ll really come after me?”

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “Maybe.”

He heard Mark’s breathing quicken. Peter ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip again.

“Do you want me to come over?” he asked. “I can sleep in your flat with you. Even if they don’t show up, I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“Okay,” Mark agreed. “But what if they come looking for you?”

“I think I’ve got a plan for that,” Peter said. “Just hang tight and I’ll be over in a few minutes, alright?”

“Yeah,” Mark answered.

They hung up and Peter called Blythe. “Hey, I need a favour.” 

A few minutes later, Blythe showed up at Peter’s flat, looking tired and confused. Peter let him in and then grabbed the sleeping bag and backpack he’d had stashed in his closet.

“Great, you’re here,” he told Blythe. “I need you to watch my place tonight. I think Logan and his goons are stalking me.”

“Really?” Blythe asked. “Why?”

“Because I got them fired,” Peter replied. “But that’s not important right now. What is important is that they’re threatening to go after Mark. I’m spending the night at his place to make sure he’s safe. I also need you here to make sure I’m not followed. The last thing I want is to lead them right to him.”

“Okay,” Blythe replied hesitantly. 

“Thanks, I owe you one,” Peter said, before rushing out the door and outside to his car.

He arrived at Mark’s flat in record time, checking the mirror periodically to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He entered the building and went upstairs, then knocked on Mark’s door.

“Peter?” Mark asked from the other side.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. 

Mark opened the door and looked more than relieved to see him. He moved aside to let Peter in, then shut and locked the door behind him. 

“Thanks for coming,” Mark said as Peter spread his sleeping bag out on the floor beside his mattress. 

“Of course,” Peter replied. “Are you okay?”

“Now that you’re here, I am,” Mark answered, then blushed, his eyes and face twitching. 

Peter offered him a smile and Mark returned it, his tics easing a little. Peter had noticed an odd pattern of Mark’s tics. Sometimes they were calm around him and other times they seemed to speed up. Was that a normal thing for Tourette’s sufferers? 

“You’re ticking a lot,” Peter said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Y-yes,” Mark answered. “I-I’m just nervous, I guess. About what you said about Logan and the others.”

“I know, but don’t worry,” Peter told him. “I’m here now. I’ll protect you.”

Mark blushed harder but nodded. He sat down on his bed and kept twitching. Peter sat on his sleeping bag and watched him for a minute. He’d meant what he said about protecting Mark. He cared about him, considered him a friend. But there was something else, wasn’t there? That rush of happiness when he made Mark smile or laugh, the warmth he felt when Mark walked close to him, when he stopped blinking rapidly and allowed Peter to look into his eyes, eyes that which Peter couldn’t really tell what colour they were, but liked how they shone in the sun or gleamed when Mark smiled or talked about something he loved.

“I can take a watch, if you want,” Peter offered. “You should try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “But you should sleep too. I feel better just by you being here. I think we might be okay for now.”

Peter nodded in agreement and both men laid down. Peter crawled into his sleeping bag and zipped it up, laying down facing the door. He heard Mark lay down as well, the mattress creaking as he shifted around on it. Despite the thickness of the sleeping bag, Peter could still feel the coldness creeping into the flat and shivered a little. 

“It’s warmer over here if you want,” Mark offered hesitantly.

Peter rolled over. Mark had spread the electric blanket out more so that it could cover both of them. Peter moved closer and pulled the blanket over his legs and waist. It was large enough that it could cover him but also Mark, and allowed them to not be in each other’s personal space. Peter laid down again and Mark did the same.

“Goodnight, Peter,” Mark whispered. “Thank you for coming over.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter whispered back. “Goodnight, Mark.” 

Both men closed their eyes and fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Mark woke up and slowly opened his eyes, relieved that morning had come. He sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face, yawning, and felt something warm pressing against his back. He rolled over and froze in place, his eyes widening. Peter Carlisle was still asleep beside him, but had somehow moved in his sleep and was now curled up against Mark’s mattress beneath the shared heated blanket. Peter was no longer in his sleeping bag and wore only a thin cotton T-shirt and boxers. His hair was tousled and messy, his full lips parted slightly as he snored quietly. 

Mark sat there for several minutes, studying the sleeping detective, feeling a bit strange but unable to tear his eyes away. Peter looked so relaxed and peaceful, more than Mark had ever seen him awake. He wanted to reach over and stroke some of Peter’s hair back from his brow, trace the shape of his eyebrows and lips, but knew he couldn’t. Mark hadn’t had a crush on someone in a long time, and most of the time they were never reciprocated. Peter was so handsome and masculine and everything that Mark himself wasn’t. There was no way the detective liked him back.

‘He just thinks of me as a friend,’ Mark thought to himself. ‘Why would he want to date someone like me anyway? He could probably have anyone else in Blackpool.’

Mark tossed some of his hair off his face and reached beneath his pillow, pulling out the notepad and pencils Peter had given him a few weeks ago. Two drawings were already in progress. Both were pictures of Peter. One was just a simple portrait of him, smiling while the other was one Mark had begun the other night, a side view of Peter looking over a case file, his black glasses perched on the end of his nose, making him look both nerdy and sexy. Mark blushed furiously and sighed. 

He wasn’t sure when he’d started developing feelings for Peter, but they were there. Peter was the first person in a long time to be nice to him, the first person to see Mark as a human rather than just seeing his illnesses. But Peter hadn’t shown any signs of being romantically interested in Mark. He was straight as far as Mark was concerned. It had taken him a long time to realize his bisexuality and when he did, he’d never dated a man because he was too scared of being rejected. The last thing Mark wanted to do was lose the first real friendship he’s had in years, so he decided just to try and hide his feeling for Peter, which was no easy feat.

Being around Peter made Mark happy and also nervous, so his tics sped up more and were harder to stop, especially if he made Peter smile or laugh. And he had such a beautiful smile. Mark blushed again and then jumped when he heard Peter starting to wake up. Mark quickly shoved his drawings out of sight under his pillow and watched Peter stir. The detective mumbled sleepily as his eyes blinked open, squinting at the sunlight shining into the room. Peter sat up and yawned, running a hand through his soft-looking hair. 

“Morning,” Peter said. 

“Morning,” Mark replied. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I did,” Peter answered. “You?”

Mark nodded. Peter smiled at him and made Mark’s heart do a cartwheel in his chest. Peter yawned again, looked down at himself and cursed suddenly. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I guess I got hot last night and undid my sleeping bag, then moved closer to you while I was asleep. I hope I didn’t make you comfortable or anything. I’ve always been a restless sleeper and I-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” Mark interjected. “It’s really okay. I wasn’t uncomfortable I promise.”

“Oh.” Peter smiled again and relaxed. “Good.” He picked up his mobile from where it was on the floor beside his sleeping bag and checked it. “Blythe says nobody came to my flat again and he’s alerted the chief about Logan and his goons. The police will start looking form them and arrest them to make sure they don’t bother us again.”

“That’s good,” Mark said. “But I’m still kinda scared, knowing that they’re still out there.”

“I know,” Peter replied. “If you like, I’ll call in to work and stay with you today. I don’t mind. We can go to the seaside or just do whatever.”

Mark loved the idea of being around Peter more, but was also afraid of making a fool out of himself or somehow scaring Peter off with his feelings. 

“Sure,” Mark said before he could overthink it. “That would be nice.”

“Great,” Peter said. “Just give me a few minutes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied. “The flat across from mine has clean, running water if you need it.”

Peter nodded and grabbed his backpack, then left the room for a few minutes. He came back fully dressed in blue jeans and trainers and a T-shirt, his damp hair slicked back as he toweled it dry. Mark watched him a little too long and looked away, blushing. Peter picked up his phone and pulled on his jacket.

“You ready?” he asked Mark.

“Yeah,” Mark replied. “Lead the way.”

Peter grinned and Mark felt his heart skip again. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

Peter and Mark walked along the seaside that afternoon, sharing some fish and chips Peter had bought from a nearby restaurant. It was a lovely day and while the beach was crowded, Mark felt safe with Peter, who glared at anyone he caught staring at them. Mark was doing his best to control his tics but it was hard. Peter made them go haywire even just by looking at him. So far though, he hadn’t actually said anything about it, so maybe he hadn’t noticed. They reached the end of the dock and stopped, overlooking the waterfront and watching the families playing in the ocean, the seagulls flying overhead.

“This was nice,” Mark said. “It’s nice to be out and about like this.”

“I’m glad,” Peter said. “I like coming here too.”

He took their rubbish and threw into the nearby bin, then stood beside Mark again, leaning against the railing. The sea breeze blew his feathery hair around and the setting sun painted his face in a warm glow, his brown eyes turning a rich, tawny gold colour. Mark stared at him, in awe of how effortlessly handsome he was. Peter blinked and looked over at Mark.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Mark said, quickly turning away, his face twitching. 

He waited for the tics to die down before facing Peter again. The detective was watching him closely, looking concerned.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked. “You’ve been ticking a lot all day. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to embarrass you, but I just wanted to make sure.”

Mark sighed. “I-I’m fine, it’s just, my tics flare up more when I’m nervous or something. Makes them harder to control.”

“Are you still nervous about Logan and stuff?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah,” Mark admitted, which was only half the truth. He looked into Peter’s earnest eyes and sighed, taking a deep breath. “And I’m nervous because, well, there’s a person I like. A lot. But I don’t think they like me the way I do them. I don’t want to ruin what we already have so I’m trying to hide my feelings but it’s hard.”

Peter arched an eyebrow, looking intrigued, but his eyes flashed with something else. “What makes you think this person doesn’t like you back?”

“Because I think they’re just being nice to me because they feel sorry for me,” Mark admitted, resting his right hand on the railing. “He’s so kind and funny and smart, and so bloody handsome. I feel like a lovesick teenager every time he smiles at me or I make him laugh.”

Peter made a strange sound, almost like a growl that he tried to cover up with a cough. Mark watched him. 

“Maybe this person does like you back, but didn’t think you felt the same way,” Peter ventured, moving a little closer to Mark. “Maybe he thinks you’re smart and funny and handsome too, but didn’t want to scare you away.”

Mark looked into Peter’s warm eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Maybe they’re both just too afraid to be involved with someone again. But maybe it’s time they gave it another shot?”

He slid closer to Mark and placed his hand gently over Mark’s, stroking his knuckles gently. Mark was suddenly very aware of his long, dirty fingernails and cracked skin on his palms, but Peter didn’t seem to mind. He reached over and very gently stroked some of Mark’s fringe back from his face, looking into his eyes. Mark blinked slowly as Peter leaned in closer and kissed him very gently. It was just a small kiss, their lips softly pressing against each other’s. Mark sighed and let Peter pull him into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around the detective’s shoulders while Peter held his waist. 

“I like you, Mark,” Peter said when the separated. “A lot.”

“I like you too,” Mark replied. “But…”

Peter’s face fell. “But?”

“But I don’t think we can start this right now,” Mark said. “I need to fix myself first, get help. There’s a mental health hospital and clinic in the city. I was thinking maybe I’d check myself into there, so they could help me. I want to be better for you, Peter. Because you give me a reason to be well again.”

“Okay,” Peter replied. “If that’s what you want. I can drive you if you want.”

“Thanks,” Mark said. “But can we just stay here a little longer?”

Peter smiled and nodded. Mark hugged him tighter and Peter held him back. Mark knew that he needed to get well again, for himself and for Peter. He didn’t want to mess this up. Peter was important to him, too important to lose. The two lingered at the seaside for a few minutes more before they left. Peter drove Mark into the city, following the directions on his mobile until they reached the Blackpool Mental Health Clinic. Mark and Peter got out of the car, looking up at the imposing building.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Peter asked.

“For you, yes,” Mark answered. 

They approached the steps and Peter started walking up them, but Mark lingered. Peter looked back at him. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just, I have this weird way that I walk upstairs,” Mark said. “I don’t want to do it in front of you.”

“I don’t mind,” Peter said reassuringly. “But maybe I can help.”

He walked back down the stairs and held his hand out to Mark. The other man smiled and took his friend’s hand, walking upstairs with him until they reached the top. The door opened and a young man in white stepped out. 

“Mark Furness?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mark confirmed. He looked back at Peter. “I’ll call as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed. “I’ll miss you though.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Mark said. 

They hugged and kissed gently one more time, before Mark was ushered inside the clinic.


	12. Chapter 12

Mark followed the nurse down a long, blindingly white hallway lined with doors witch a number outside each one. He anxiously twiddled his thumbs, feeling his tics going haywire with each step. He missed Peter already. He could still feel the detective’s lips against his own, warm and soft, his breath crisp and smooth. Mark smiled to himself and blushed. He and Peter had kissed! Their first kiss! Mark felt giddier than a teenager asking out their crush. He still couldn’t believe that Peter had reciprocated his feelings.

“He we are, Mr. Furness,” the nurse said, stopping outside a door marked 23. “This will be your room.”

Mark stepped inside once the nurse had unlocked it. There were two beds on either side of the room, a nightstand with a lamp on it between them beneath a window wreathed in curtains. There was also a dresser and a door Mark assumed was a bathroom. 

“Tomorrow morning we’ll start preparing your treatment plan,” the nurse explained while Mark surveyed the room. “We’ll evaluate you physically and mentally, prescribe you some medicine and set you up with a private therapist if you need it. Make yourself at home, Mr. Furness.”

“Thank you,” Mark replied.

The nurse smiled. “I’ll let your roommate explain how things work around here.”

The nurse exited the room and left Mark alone. He glanced at the two beds. He was going to have a roommate? Suddenly he felt even more nervous. Until Peter, the only people he hung around had been the ones he’d encounter at the soup kitchen where he’d sometimes go to eat. 

‘What if they don’t like me or want me here?’ Mark thought worriedly, picking at his fingernails. ‘What if I don’t like them?’

He sat down slowly onto the bed on the left side of the room, removing his sketchbook and pens from his pocket, the only personal items he’d brought with him. He flipped open the sketchbook to his two completed drawings of Peter. He carefully ripped them out and used some tape he found in the nightstand to hang them up on the plain white cinderblock wall by his bed. He smiled as he traced the sketch Peter’s eyebrow, his sharp jawline, wondering what it would be like to that in person.

‘I hope he doesn’t forget about me,’ Mark thought. ‘I’m not even sure how long I’ll have to stay here. What if he gets impatient and leaves?’

Mark licked his lips nervously, picking at his fingernails again. He heard heavy footfalls in the hallway, getting closer to his room, someone whistling a happy tune. The door swung open and a tall, broad man bounced exuberantly into the room, making Mark jump. The stranger was taller than him, broader, with fiery red hair to his shoulders and freckles splashed across his crooked nose and chin. His bright eyes brightened even more when he saw Mark and he smiled.

“Hey, Shelly said I had a new roommate,” the man said, in a thick Irish accent. He stuck his hand out to Mark. “Name’s Theodore Alexander McNully the Second, but that’s kind of a mouthful. Just call me Theo. What’s your name?”

“Mark Furness,” Mark replied, holding his hand out. 

Theo took it, his grip strong as iron and shook Mark’s whole arm. He sat down on the other bed and kicked off his boots, then sat crossed-legged and stared at Mark.

“So, what flavour crazy are you?” Theo asked. 

Mark snorted a slight laugh. “Flavour?”

“You know, what’s wrong with you?” Theo asked. “I’ve got bipolar disorder.”

“OCD and Tourette’s,” Mark answered. 

“I had an uncle with Tourette’s,” Theo said. “He used to bark at every dog in the neighborhood. People called him Barkington.” He cracked his knuckles loudly. “So, who are you here for?”

Mark furrowed his brow in confusion. “Here for? What do you mean?”

“People who look like you usually end up here one of two ways,” Theo explained. “Either it’s a court order or you checked yourself in voluntarily because you finally found someone who you want to be well for. And judging by those pictures on your wall, I’d say you definitely found someone.” He nodded at Peter’s pictures. “So who is he?”

“His name is Peter,” Mark answered, feeling a grin on his lips. “Peter Carlisle. He’s a detective investigator with the Blackpool police.”

“I can tell you really like him,” Theo appraised. “Good for you. Does he like you too?”

“Yeah,” Mark answered. “So, are you here for someone too?”

Theo reached into the back pocket of his faded jeans and removed a single folded paper. He unfolded it and showed it to Mark. It showed Theo and a pretty young woman standing in front of a gorgeous loch somewhere. A little girl with Theo’s red hair and smile sat on his shoulders, grinning at the camera.

“That’s my wife, and my little girl, Jessie,” Theo explained. “I’m here for them. Or for Jessie, anyway. I need to prove I can get better so I can get her out of foster care.”  
“Foster care?” Mark asked, handing the picture back. 

“My wife passed away a few months ago,” Theo admitted sadly. “She had ovarian cancer. By the time I came home, she had already died. Jessie was sent to foster care. She belongs with me, so I need to get better for her. She’s my everything.”

“I’m so sorry, Theo,” Mark said. “When was the last time you even saw Jessie?”

“Two months ago,” Theo answered. “At Sally’s funeral. She looked at me with her mother’s eyes and said, ‘Daddy, I want to be with you. I don’t want to go to that other family.’” He sighed and rubbed his jaw. “You have kids?”

“No,” Mark admitted. “But maybe one day. Hopefully.”

Theo smiled. “But, I’ll be seeing her soon. Next week this place holds a visitation day out in the rec room. Her foster family is bringing her.”

“Visitation day?” Mark repeated. “Does that mean I could invite Peter here?”

“Sure you can,” Theo said. “Just call him and tell him. Or better yet, write him a letter. That’s romantic and old-fashioned.”

Mark bit his lip. “What if Peter doesn’t come? What if I’m not...better?”

“You will be,” Theo promised. “Come into the bathroom for a sec.”

He left his bed and went into the bathroom. Mark followed and stood beside Theo, looking at their reflections in the mirror. Compared to Theo, Mark felt and looked especially haggard. He cringed and looked away from the mirror. 

“You have to be patient to get better,” Theo said. “Once we get you a shave, a haircut, maybe even a manicure…”

Mark looked down at his long fingernails and blushed. Theo patted his shoulder and continued.

“And once they get you on some meds and stuff, you can write to Peter and invite him here for visitation. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

“You really think so?” Mark asked.

“Sure I do,” Theo said. 

Mark looked at his reflection again. It had been so long since he’d looked in a mirror. He couldn’t believe Peter had even kissed him. 

“Peter kissed me even though I look like this,” Mark told Theo. “What does that mean?”

“It must mean he really, really likes you,” Theo said. “I know you’re nervous that he won’t show up on visitation day, but I know he will. And besides, we’ve got a week to fix you up beforehand anyway.”

“I guess,” Mark murmured. 

“It’s okay to be nervous, buddy,” Theo said. “Everyone who comes here has doubts that their families or friends won’t come. But they always do.”

He squeezed Mark’s shoulders and left the bathroom. Mark followed and sat back down on his bed, studying Peter’s pictures again. 

‘They’d look better if they were in colour,’ Mark thought.

“Those drawings are pretty good,” Theo said. “Did you draw them?”

“Yeah,” Mark admitted. “I thought they’d help miss him less.”

“It’s nice to know what he looks like before I see him in person,” Theo said. “He’s cute. Bet he’s even better up close, eh?” He winked mischievously at Mark and the other man blushed.

Mark stroked the drawings again. He missed Peter so much. He looked over at the calendar someone had put up by the door. He picked up one of his pens and counted the days until visitation. He had a week before he would get to see Peter again. Mark crossed off the current day later that night, after he was given some fresh clothes to sleep in. Theo was asleep already but Mark laid awake, studying the drawings of Peter.

“I’ll see you soon, Peter,” Mark whispered in the dark. “I hope you'll see me too.”


	13. Chapter 13

Peter sighed as he swirled his spoon around, watching the whirlpool in his coffee cup swirl around before dissipating. He stared out the window aimlessly, watching people passing by in the bright, windy morning, propping his chin up in his other hand. Blythe sat down across from him and pushed a tray of food across the table.

“Eat,” Blythe said when Peter glanced at the food. “I’m not having history repeat itself.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You know,” Blythe replied, sitting down with his own food. “After Natalie left you, you stopped eating whole meals. You looked like a bloody scarecrow in jeans. Eat. Mark would want you to, yeah?”

Peter glared at his partner before begrudgingly picking up his fork and knife, cutting into his sandwich. It had been three days since Mark had checked himself into the mental health clinic, three days since Peter had seen or even heard from him. He wanted to call the place but didn’t want to seem clingy or even desperate. Mark needed time to get better and Peter wanted to give him space and time to do it. He knew he needed to be patient but it was hard. He wasn’t a very patient man.

“We haven’t found Logan or his goons yet,” Blythe said, salting his chips. “We did find where they’d been hiding but they’d cleared out by the time we got there.”

“Bastards,” Peter mumbled. 

It was hard knowing that they were still out there, though they hadn’t harassed Peter in a while and it made him feel better that as long as Mark was at the clinic, he’d be safe. 

“Thanks for looking for them,” he told Blythe. “It’ll be a load off my mind once they’re caught.”

“No problem,” Blythe replied. “So, are you Mark ever going to like, you know, date for real?”

Peter choked on his sandwich and coughed, using coffee to clear his throat. “How is that any of your business?”

“You’re my friend, Peter,” Blythe answered. “And my partner. Besides, I haven't seen this lovey dovey with a person in forever. You went out of your way to get Mark a doctor, bought him food and an electric blanket, even art supplies. You’re head over heels for him, aren’t you?”

Peter felt a blush rising high in his cheeks. “So what if I am?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Peter,” Blythe said soothingly. “It’s just nice to see you happy again.”

Peter smiled gratefully at his partner. They finished their food and walked back to the station together. Peter’s mind was still on Mark. Was he okay? Was he getting the help he needed?

‘Does he miss me?’ Peter thought. ‘Is he thinking about me?’

He and Blythe reached the station and walked inside, heading toward Peter’s desk. As they did, Blythe stopped. 

“Peter, look,” he said, pointing to the mailbox beside Peter’s desk.

The detective looked over and spotted a single envelope sticking out of it. Peter raised both eyebrows as he took it, but then his eyes widened when he saw the address neatly written on the corner.

“It's from the clinic,” he told Blythe excitedly. “It’s from Mark!”

“The post must have delivered it while we were gone,” Blythe mused. “Well. don’t just stand there holding it! Read it!”

Peter quickly slit the envelope open with his fingernail and removed a piece of paper neatly folded into three sections. Unfolding it slowly, Peter read in Mark’s smooth, neat handwriting:

‘Dear Peter,

I miss you. I just wanted to start this off by telling you that. I think about you all the time and wonder if you think about me too. This place is really nice. I already have a medical plan and they’ve set me up with a private therapist. My roommate, Theo, persuaded me to write you this letter. He’s really nice and has helped me since I got here.

I’m writing to you also because I was wondering if we could see each other. The clinic is holding a visitation day on Saturday from two to four o’clock. I understand if you’re too busy that day, but I really hope you’ll come. I hope to see you there, Peter. 

Sincerely, 

Mark Furness.’

Peter smiled as he traced the name. He looked up at Blythe, who was watching him closely.

“The clinic is holding a visitation day on Saturday in the afternoon,” Peter explained. “Mark wants me to be there.”

“Are you gonna go?” Blythe asked.

“Yes,” Peter answered instantly. 

When Saturday finally came, Peter got up early and took a shower and brushed his teeth, his hair. He spent almost an hour trying to decide what to wear to the clinic and finally settled on dark blue jeans, a button-down shirt, and his black peacoat to ward off the cold. He killed time until finally, it was time to go to the clinic and he drove straight there. He parked in the visitor’s parking lot and entered the clinic, fussing with his hair and checking his teeth in his phone’s camera.

“Hi, I’m here for the visitation day,” Peter told the receptionist at the front desk. “I’m seeing Mark Furness.”

“Of course, sir,” she replied, handing him an orange sticker with the word ‘Visitor’ written across it in Sharpie. “The rec room is down that hallway on the right.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, sticking the sticker to his jacket and heading down the hallway.

He reached the rec room and marveled how nice it was. A TV was mounted up on one wall and there was an air hockey table as well as a record player and a billiards table. Rectangular tables had been set up in the middle of the room, most of them occupied. Peter saw families with young children or teenagers, young couples hugging and kissing. He sat down at an empty table and waited for Mark to show up, looking around the room for him. A hand suddenly tapped his shoulder and Peter turned around to find a man settling down across from him.

“Sorry, mate, but I’m here for someone else,” Peter told him. 

The man laughed and blushed a little. “Peter it’s me. Mark.”

Peter raised an eyebrow suspiciously at first but then he saw the man’s clean-shaven face tic and his jaw dropped. It was Mark! He looked so different! Not only had he shaved, but his hair was cut shorter into a mop of ruffled curls and his skin had more colour to it. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, his red lips pulled into a shy smile.

“Mark, you-you look amazing,” Peter stuttered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even recognize you.”

“That’s okay,” Mark replied. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Peter said.

He held his hand out across the table and Mark took it. HIs fingernails were short and clean, his hand smooth against Peter’s. 

“You look better,” Peter told him. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Mark answered. “They’ve got me on two different meds to help with my OCD and the Tourette’s. Sadly they don’t really help the tics but at least I’ve stopped cursing and barking every couple sentences.”

“That’s good,” Peter said. “I’m glad.”

Mark smiled again and looked around the room. “We don’t have to stay here, you know. Would you like to see the rest of the place?”

“Sure,” Peter replied. “Lead the way.”

They left the rec room hand in hand and as they did, Peter saw a red-headed man with a little girl giving Mark a thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” Peter asked.

“Theo,” Mark answered. “My roommate.”

He led Peter outside into a playground type area with a makeshift football pitch and a garden. They walked along the smooth stone path.

“I missed you a lot since I’ve been here,” Mark said. 

“I missed you too,” Peter admitted. “I was really happy when I got your letter.”

Mark grinned but his blue eyes flashed nervously and his face twitched. Peter stopped and squeezed his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s just that, I was wondering if I could kiss you again,” Mark confessed, blushing. 

“I’d love nothing more than that,” Peter said.

He and Mark stared into each other’s eyes before Mark leaned in a kissed Peter gently at first, but then a little more firmly. Peter pulled the man gently closer, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist while Mark held his shoulders. They stayed like that for a long time, trading kisses like they couldn’t get enough of each other. When Mark finally pulled away, his lips were redder and shiny, his cheeks flushed in a telltale way.

“I’ve missed you so much, Peter,” he whispered, hugging the detective tightly. 

Peter hugged him back, thinking about what Blythe had said, about him and Mark dating for real someday.

“Are you allowed to leave this place yet?” Peter asked slowly.

“Yeah,” Mark answered. “Because I’m not a dangerous patient I’m allowed to have day and night passes. Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if I could take you out on a date,” Peter explained. “A real date-dinner, maybe a film, anything you like.”

“I’d love too,” Mark said. “When do want to go?”

“How about Tuesday at seven?” Peter asked. “If you can get a pass, of course.”

“I’ll ask,” Mark promised. 

“Good,” Peter said.

“Can I kiss you again?” Mark asked hopefully.

“Kiss me all you want,” Peter answered. 

Mark chuckled and kissed him again, his lips warm and soft against Peter’s.


	14. Chapter 14

“This is ridiculous,” Peter said, standing with Blythe in the middle of the mens’ section at a clothing store. “Why can’t I just wear something I already have?”

“This is your first date with Mark,” Blythe replied, examining a rack of jackets. “You want it to be special, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Peter said. 

“Then one way to help with that is to wear new clothes,” Blythe replied matter-of-factly. “You can’t just throw something on willy nilly, Peter.”

The detective snorted. “You never cared when I was dating Natalie.”

“Because you weren’t dating Natalie,” Blythe said. “You were having an affair with her. Mark is different to you, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is,” Peter agreed. “He does things to me that Natalie or anyone never has. He makes my heart race and my stomach feel like a colony of butterflies are fluttering around inside me.”

Blythe smiled as he plucked a dark jacket off the rack and draped it over his arm. He led Peter through the store, taking a few shirts from different places as well as different pairs of jeans. He handed the clothes to Peter outside the fitting area.

“Try these on,” Blythe told him. “We’ll judge what looks good with what.”

Peter rolled his eyes but took the clothes and darted into one of the fitting rooms. As he removed his current clothes, he thought about Mark. He’d called Peter on Monday, confirming that he’d gotten a pass to go out with Peter on Tuesday at 7:00 in the evening. Peter had already planned most of the date out, but he was still nervous as hell. Blythe suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

“Are you dressed yet?” he asked. “Come out, let me see.”

Peter finished dressing in a solid red Polo shirt and blue jeans, then stepped out into view. He stood in front of some full length mirrors while Blythe surveyed him with his arms crossed. 

“Turn around,” Blythe said. 

Peter did. He faced Blythe again and his partner shook his head in distaste. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“Swap the shirt and the jeans,” Blythe replied. “Those don’t look good together.”

Peter went back into the fitting room and stripped off again. As he did, Blythe spoke from the other side.

“Where are you taking Mark anyway?”

“I got reservations at that Italian place on Main Street,” Peter replied. “I’m not sure what we’ll do afterward though.”

“You could take him to the waterfront,” Blythe suggested.

“We’ve been there a lot already,” Peter said, coming out wearing dark blue jeans and a V-neck shirt. “Does this look alright?”

“No,” Blythe answered. “Change again. Try the striped shirt with the black jeans. You could take him to the park.”

“Maybe,” Peter mused, changing again. “I want to take him somewhere I know he’ll like.”

“Hmm.” Blythe hummed.

Peter came back out, thinking that this outfit looked quite smart, but Blythe shook his head again.

“Why are you doing this anyway?” Peter asked, stepping away from the mirrors. “Why do you care so much about Mark and I?”

“Because I’m your friend, Peter,” Blythe replied, “and because I’m the closest thing you have to a wingman. Try on the last thing.”

Peter obeyed and dressed again. As he was doing so, Blythe spoke again.

“What does Mark like?” he asked. 

“Architecture,” Peter answered instantly. “He loves architecture. He used to be an architect. He knows everything about some of the most famous structures in the world. And he likes drawing.”

He came back out and this time, Blythe smiled.

“That looks perfect,” he said. “What do you think?”

Peter turned around and faced the mirrors. He smiled at his reflection and ran his hands down his front. 

“I love it,” he said. 

“Great,” Blythe said. “I think I have an idea about where you can take Mark after your dinner.”

“Yeah?” Peter turned to his wingman again.

“Take him to the tower,” Blythe suggested. 

Peter grinned. “That’s a great idea. Thanks, Blythe.”

“You’re welcome,” Blythe replied. “Now let’s pay for this and get you ready for tonight.”

Peter nodded, feeling butterflies in his stomach again.

Mark stood in the bathroom, ruffling his hands through his curls, angling his head, smoothing his hands down oer the front of his button-down shirt. He also wore jeans and trainers, donated to the clinic by a thrift store a few blocks away. 

“Stop fussing, mate, you look great,” Theo said from the doorway.

“You really think so?” Mark asked, facing his roommate. 

“Yeah, I do,” Theo confirmed. “But I know Peter will be happy to see you. He won’t care what you’re wearing.”

Mark smiled at Theo and they walked back into their room, sitting down on their beds. It was still a couple hours till Mark’s date and he was beyond nervous. He hadn’t been on an actual date in years, not since Charlotte had left. And he’d never even been on a date with a man. What should he talk about with Peter? What if he couldn’t control his tics during the date and people stared at them?

“Mark, mate, relax,” Theo said. “You’re ticking like mad.”

“Sorry,” Mark said. “I’m just nervous. I’ve never dated another man before and I really like Peter. I’m afraid I’ll make a fool of myself on this, our first date.”

“Your nerves are perfectly normal, bruv,” Theo replied. “I was nervous as hell for my first date with my wife, when we were teenagers. She was nervous too, but once we got comfortable with each other, the nerves went away.”

Mark took a deep breath and wrung his hands, trying to calm himself. He looked over at his notebook and pens on the nightstand.

“Do you think I should give him something?” Mark asked Theo. “A gift?”

“That’s a good idea,” Theo agreed. “What do you want to give him?”

“I don’t know,” Mark admitted. 

Theo rubbed his jaw. “You should give him one of your drawings. I’m sure he’d love them. And now that I’ve seen Peter in person I can say those pictures are awesome. So lifelike.”

Mark picked up his notebook, flipping through the pages. During his free time he’d added even more sketches of Peter inside it. Some were finished and others still needed to be shaded in. Mark wasn’t sure which one to use. He flipped through and finally stopped on another portrait of Peter. It showed that mischievous smile Mark loved, the lines at the corners of his gorgeous eyes. Mark carefully tore it out and set it aside. He needed something else.

“Flowers,” he said to Theo. “Men can give other men flowers, right?”

“Of course they can,” Theo replied. 

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “But I’m not sure if Peter even likes flowers or where to get them.”

Theo leaned forward, running his fingers through his long hair. His eyes lit up suddenly and he smiled, bounding off the bed.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Follow me.”

He darted out of the room and Mark followed him down the hallway and then upstairs to a different floor of the clinic. Mark had never been up there before but clearly Theo had. He followed his roommate down another hallway until Theo stopped outside a door labeled 414 and knocked. 

“Gretchen, open up, it’s Theo,” Theo called. “I’ve got a friend here who needs your help.”

He gave Mark a thumbs up when he stared at him quizzically. The door opened and a young woman appeared, thin and pale, wearing a sundress and a flowery headband in her thick curly hair. She smiled shyly at Theo and Mark.

“Theo, it’s been a long time,” she said. “Do you need another flower for your daughter?”

“Nah, but maybe next visitation day,” Theo replied. “She loved the rose, by the way.”

“I’m glad,” the woman replied. “So what do you need?”

“This is Mark,” Theo explained, gesturing to him. “He’s going on a date in a few hours and wants to give them some flowers.”

“That’s lovely, Mark,” the woman said. “I’m Gretchen. Please come in.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mark said, entering her room with Theo.

Gretchen’s room was similar to the one Mark and Theo shared, but there was only one bed. The other side of the room looked like a greenhouse. Flowers of sorts of colours and sizes were either in boxes on the window or hanging from pots on the ceiling. Gretchen hummed as she caressed the petals of a sunflower.

“What kind of flowers are you looking for, Mark?” she asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Mark admitted. “I don’t know if Peter even likes flowers.”

“Hmm,” Gretchen hummed, tapping her bottom lip. “What’s this Peter like?”

Mark smiled to himself. “He’s funny and kind and gentle. He looked after me so much when we first met, protected me from people. He’s the reason I wanted to come here to get treatment. I love him.”

At first Mark froze when he said it, but he realized it was true. He loved Peter. He was in love with Peter. He looked up at Gretchen and saw that she was smiling. Humming to herself, she walked over to some flowers growing on top of her dresser. Mark realized they were all roses in different colours. Gretchen used small sheers to pluck a few different roses from different pots, then used scissors to cut a length of silky ribbon, tying the flowers together in a neat bundle before handing them to Mark. The bouquet was made up of two red roses, two orange ones, a blue one, and a single white one. They smelled heavenly.

“Peter will like these because of what they symbolize,” Gretchen explained. “Red roses represent true love, the orange gratitude for him looking after you, a blue one for his uniqueness, and a white one that represents new and everlasting love.”

“Thank you very much, Gretchen,” Mark said. “I think Peter will like these.”

“You’re welcome,” Gretchen replied with another shy smile.

As Mark and Theo left, Theo whispered, “Gretchen has been here for three years and didn’t talk for the first two. The docs later figured out that gardening helped calm her schizophrenia and used that to help her take meds and get better.”

“Wow,” Mark whispered back. “Then why is she still here?”

“I don’t know,” Theo admitted.

A couple hours later, Mark was sitting on the steps outside the clinic, trying his hardest not to fidget or mess with his hair out of nerves. Beside him laid his gifts for Peter, the drawing now framed and wrapped up with newspaper, but topped with a bow made of ribbon. Mark stroked it absently and checked his watch. 6:59. The sound of tires approaching made him look up. Peter’s familiar car rolled to a stop a few feet away and Mark stood up, gathering the presents and walking toward the car. Peter exited as he approached and Mark stopped short when he saw him. 

Peter looked stunning. He wore black jeans and a midnight-blue button-down shirt with a dark blazer over it and new trainers. His tawny hair was neatly combed and it looked like he’d even gotten it cut. His syrup-brown eyes gleamed as his full lips curled up into a smile when he saw Mark. The other man took a deep breath before resuming walking toward his date, holding the gifts behind his back.

“Mark, you look amazing,” Peter said. 

“So-so do you,” Mark stuttered, feeling his face tic before he could stop it. 

Peter frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, you just look...so handsome,” Mark replied. “If I thought I was nervous before.” He chuckled. 

Peter laughed too. “I’m nervous too. It’s been a long time since I’ve dated anyone.”

That made Mark feel better. He took a deep breath before offering Peter the bouquet and the picture. 

“These are for you,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you liked flowers but I didn’t just want to give you one thing so I..”

“Mark, relax, it’s okay,” Peter soothed, taking the bouquet. “Nobody’s ever given me flowers before.” He smelled them and grinned. “Thank you.”

He set them carefully aside and held the wrapped gift. Mark twiddled his thumbs as Peter undid the ribbon and peeled back the newspaper. The detective gasped when he saw his own likeness staring up at him.

“Mark, this is amazing,” he said. “Did, did you draw this?”

“Yes,” Mark admitted.  
“Wow,” Peter said. “Mark, thank you. I love it.”

Mark sighed in relief and Peter smiled again. He picked up the bouquet and removed one of the red roses from it, threading the stem through a button hole in his blazer lapel before offering Mark his arm.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“What a gentleman,” Mark replied teasingly as he took Peter’s arm.

Peter kept side-eyeing Mark as they drove from the restaurant. The other man looked so handsome with his clean-shaven face and thick, soft curls. His blue eyes were much easier to see now that his hair was shorter. Dinner had gone better than Peter had hoped. They’d shared an appetiser and a nice wine, even split the main course between themselves. Mark had even asked if he could sit beside Peter in the booth, which the detective had agreed to eagerly. They had ice cream for dessert and took turns feeding it to each other. Now Peter was hoping to end the night with a surprise.

“Where are we going?” Mark asked.

“It’s a secret,” Peter replied. “We’re almost there though.”

Mark smiled and Peter reciprocated. After a few more minutes he stopped the car at a different waterfront.

“We’ll have to walk a bit,” Peter said, turning off the car. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied. 

They exited the car and Mark took Peter’s hand as they walked, interlacing their fingers. Peter loved the feeling, the closeness of it. The evening sky gleamed with stars and a thin, crescent moon. The beach was deserted except for a few lone seagulls. Mark was looking around curiously, probably wondering where they were going. Then their destination came into view and he gasped.

“Oh, Peter, it’s beautiful,” he breathed as they reached Blackpool Tower.

“Welcome to Blackpool Tower, Mark,” Peter said. “It was opened to the public in May in 1894 and at the time was the tallest man-made structure in the British Empire.”

Mark looked away from the lit-up tower to Peter in shock. “How did you know that?”

“I’m naturally brilliant,” Peter replied. “And I may have looked up info beforehand so I could seem smart.”

Mark laughed and so did Peter. He loved making Mark laugh. They stood side by side, hands entwined as they stared up at the tower, a sea breeze ruffling their hair. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Mark said, quietly. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I,” Peter replied. 

They turned to face each other. Peter stroked Mark’s cheek when it twitched, gently rubbing his thumb over it. 

“Can I kiss?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Mark answered.

Peter drew him into a slow, gentle kiss. Mark cupped the sides of his neck while Peter held his waist. They kissed for a few minutes before pulling back for air. Mark’s eyes gleamed in the starlight.

“I love you, Peter,” he whispered almost timidly. “I think I have for a long time, since we first met.”

“Amazing how our first meeting was you hitting me with a bottle.” Peter joked. He chuckled and caressed Mark’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I love you too, Mark. And I’ll still be here, waiting for you when you’re discharged from the clinic.”

“I’ll be out in another week,” Mark replied. “Think you can wait that long?”

“For you I’d wait forever,” Peter whispered. “I love you, Mark.”

They kissed again and again, standing in the shadow of Blackpool Tower, bathed in starlight and lost in their love.


	15. Chapter 15

The air in the car felt warm and electric as Peter pulled Mark just a bit closer, nipping at his bottom lip. Mark groaned against their lips, running his hand down from Peter’s shoulder to his chest, to his right leg. The detective felt his boyfriend’s nails dig into his skin through his jeans, making fire in his belly burn brighter. He tangled a hand in Mark’s soft curls, tilting his head to change the angle and deepen the kiss. Mark’s lips were warm and dry, and he tasted so sweet, like the frozen yogurt they’d just shared at the boardwalk. He used his other hand to cup Peter’s jaw, keeping him close. Peter sighed, his heart racing, his sense overwhelmed by Mark’s scent, the feel of their tongues meeting each other, the softness of his boyfriend’s curls in his hand, and the-

Peter’s mobile began to ring from inside the glove box. He groaned and tried to ignore it, but as it continued to ring, he sighed and pulled away. Mark whined and tried to kiss him again, but Peter placed a hand on his chest with an apologetic smile. He opened the glove box and checked his phone, then sighed as he examined the screen. 

“My lunch has been over for fifteen minutes,” he said. “Blythe needs me back at the station.”

“Urgently?” Mark asked, walking his fingertips down Peter’s forearm.

The detective smiled and stroked Mark’s cheek tenderly. His boyfriend’s lips and cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess. At the start of their make out session he’d been so nervous and unsure, but after a minute relaxed into it. He was actually quite the good kisser. Peter stuck his phone back in his jeans pocket and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His lips were redder than usual, his shirt wrinkled and his hair was disheveled as well. 

“If I don’t come back soon he’ll just keep calling,” Peter told Mark. “It’ll only kill the mood more.”

“Okay,” Mark agreed. “At least I can still have you until we reach the clinic again.”

Peter grinned and they kissed again before he started the car, driving away from the deserted parking lot by Blackpool Tower. As he drove, he kept one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested on his leg. Almost instinctively, Mark reached over and took it, interlacing their fingers. Peter smiled as his heart fluttered at the gesture. He and Mark had been dating steadily for almost two weeks now, and Peter was certain he’d never had a more romantic time in his life. Because Mark was such a cooperative patient, he had perks at the clinic that other patients didn’t, including day and night passes as well phone privileges. Some days Peter would pick him up from the asylum and they would eat dinner or lunch at a café or at the boardwalk. 

Afterward they would either walk around or just sit in Peter’s car, listening to the radio. Though lately Mark had been pushing for more physical contact, hence the make out session. Peter had longed for something like that but hadn’t said anything about it, not wanting to push Mark too fast. Before they’d started kissing, Peter had noticed the way Mark had kept staring at his lips, which was also something he did whenever Peter was eating ice cream or anything that required licking.

“Are you okay?” Peter had asked, stroking Mark’s hand. “You’re ticking a bit.”

“Yeah, I’m just nervous,” Mark had replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was wondering if we could, you know maybe…?” He trailed off, blushing and bit his lower lip while staring at Peter’s mouth for a second.

“Are you asking if we can make out?” Peter had asked with an amused grin.

Mark nodded, blushing deeper. Peter chuckled and guided Mark closer by his chin, pressing their lips together gently. The detective smiled to himself at the memory as he kept driving, giving Mark the side eye. He wore jeans and a plaid button-up shirt, looking so casually handsome that it made Peter’s heart flutter like a bird’s wing. They reached the clinic a little too early for Peter’s liking and parked in the visitor lot.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Mark said quietly, squeezing Peter’s hand.

“Neither do I,” Peter replied, squeezing back. “But another two days and then you can be released, right?”

Mark nodded and smiled. “Yeah.”

“We’ll survive,” Peter said. “Want me to walk you to the door?”

Mark nodded. They exited the car and held hands as they walked up the steps. Peter pulled his boyfriend close and Mark put his arms around the taller man’s neck.

“I love you,” Peter said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

“I’d like that,” Mark replied. “I love you, too, Peter.”

They kissed once, twice, before Mark stepped away and let Peter stroke his face before he went back inside the clinic, vanishing from view. Peter sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets as he walked back down the steps and got into his car again, driving back to the station in silence. He missed Mark already. He had never gotten attached to someone so quickly before, but maybe that was what happened when you were so in love with someone. You wanted to be around them all the time, you thought about them all the time. Peter grinned to himself as he reached the station and parked in his reserved spot. He didn’t bother to fix his appearance as he walked inside and made his way to his desk, where Blythe was waiting.

“There you are,” his partner said. He looked at Peter’s wrinkled shirt and messy hair, his lips still swollen. “Have fun, did you?”

“Yeah, until you killed the mood by calling me,” Peter replied. “You couldn’t have given me another ten minutes?”

“No, we both no you wouldn’t last ten minutes,” Blythe quipped. “Now we need to get to work before the chief comes back out here.”

Peter rolled his eyes but sat down at his desk. The flowers from his date with Mark a few nights ago were still blooming brightly in a vase full of water, beside the portrait of Peter Mark had drawn. The detective smiled at the flowers, caressing the delicate petals of the red rose in the bouquet. He and Blythe worked well into the evening, though Blythe mostly asked questions about Mark.

“What’s he going to do once he’s discharged from the clinic?” Blythe asked. “Where will he live?”

“I’m going to ask if he’ll move in with me,” Peter replied. “I’m not sending him back to that deathtrap he was living in before. My place is big enough for two people.”

“What about work?” Blythe asked. “Will he be able to find a job?”

“Maybe eventually,” Peter said. “He could land another post as an architect here or maybe even do something with his artwork itself.”

Blythe pursed his lips and nodded to himself. He left around nine o’clock and said goodbye to Peter, who lingered at the station until ten thirty. He got into his car but when he tried to start it, it wouldn’t start. 

“What the hell?” Peter asked. 

He kept turning his key but to no avail. It had been working just fine all day. What had changed? Peter got out of the car and walked around it. He noticed one of his back tires was flat and oil was leaking out from beneath the car in a black puddle. 

“Damn,” Peter muttered.

He knew better than to drive home with a flat tire and an oil leak. He tried calling Blythe, but his partner didn’t answer, and Peter didn’t really like anybody else enough to ask them for a ride either. He decided that it wouldn’t kill him to walk home and call someone about his car in the morning. Peter pocketed his mobile and started walking down the street toward his flat. The night air was colder than usual with the winter coming on and Peter shivered, pulling the collar of his jacket up higher. He walked along the sidewalk, feeling kind of uneasy. It felt like he was being watched. He could hear the slow, ominous sound of tires against the street, a few feet behind him.

Peter walked quicker, trying to calm his paranoid thoughts. He definitely could hear someone following him. He reached a crosswalk and an alley between two buildings. As Peter waited, he heard a car pull up, and headlights suddenly blinded him. Peter cursed and raised his hand up, trying to ward off the light. He heard doors opening and two figures stepped out of a dark-coloured car in front of him. Peter squinted and felt his stomach clench with anger.

“Logan,” he snarled. “Hayes. What are you arseholes doing here?”

“We’ve been looking for you, Carlisle,” Logan drawled. “We wanted to take you up on what you said a few weeks ago.”

Peter took a step back as Logan and Hayes grew closer. He heard footfalls behind him and turned around. Officer Dawson had appeared behind him out of nowhere. Peter swallowed and turned back to Logan.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “What offer?”

“You don’t remember?” Hayes asked. “You said we can do whatever we want to you, as long as we leave your crazy boyfriend alone.”

“And seeing as he’s all safe and sound in the looney bin,” Dawson added, coming closer to Peter’s back, “you’re fair game out here, Carlisle.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Peter told them. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He tried to walk away but Dawson suddenly grabbed him from behind, pulling Peter’s arms behind his back and dragging him into the alley out of sight while Logan and Hayes followed. Peter cursed and tried to squirm free, but the more he struggled, the higher Dawson raised his arms until Peter’s wrists were between his shoulder blades, making him hiss in pain. Logan and Hayes stood in front of him. Logan reached into his jeans pocket and removed something wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it and Peter felt his heart drop as he realized they were brass knuckles.

“Guys, come on, we’re all reasonable men here,” Peter said, his voice wavering. “Let’s talk about this.”

“That’s not going to work, Carlisle,” Hayes said, crossing his arms. “Logan, you get first crack.”

The former officer cracked his knuckles before slipping the brass ones onto his right hand. Peter’s heart was racing and he started to breath rapidly. He tried to get free of Dawson’s’ grip but it was like being gripped by a bear trap. The first punch caught Peter right in the stomach. Air left his lungs in a whoosh and he nearly doubled over, coughing to the point that he almost vomited. Dawson pulled him back into position and Logan hit him again, right in the chest. Peter yelled out as he felt something snap inside him, white-hot pain shooting through his core. Logan hit him several more times. Peter could feel tears streaming down his face and tasted blood each time he coughed.

“Your turn, Hayes,” Logan said, handing the blood-stained brass knuckles to his crony. 

Hayes took them and slipped them on, grinning evilly. Peter whimpered and tried to fight against Dawson’s hold on him but he couldn’t. Hayes smirked and he leaned closer, his breath hot and sour against Peter’s face.

“You make better sounds then when we beat the shit out of your boyfriend,” Hayes hissed.

Peter growled and spat a wad of bloody spit into the other man’s eye. Hayes reeled back and wiped it away, lips pulled back in a snarl. He hit Peter with an uppercut right in his stomach. This time Peter did vomit and crumpled to his knees when Dawson let him go suddenly, exclaiming in disgust. Peter’s vision was blurry with tears, his breathing ragged and hoarse. He could hear Logan and his goons talking faintly over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

“What should we do with him now?” Dawson asked. “Finish him off?”

“Sure, why not?” Logan agreed. “Once we’re done here we can find a way to get to his boyfriend.”

Peter growled and momentarily forgot about his pain. He grabbed the closest leg to him and pulled. Dawson yelled out as he fell, his head hitting the cement with a dull thud. Logan and Hayes all yelled as well. Peter saw stars and pain exploded through his face as a boot caught him in the jaw, sending him backwards. He tried to get back up and screamed, pain flaring through his whole body. He saw Hayes approaching him, something shiny glinting in his hand. Peter tried to run but he was too disoriented, his vision still blurry, his ears ringing. 

“Son of a bitch,” Hayes snarled. 

He rushed at Peter and the detective felt a ripping, tearing agony in his stomach. Peter crumpled to the ground again and heard something metallic fall to the ground. He placed a hand against his abdomen and it came away red and slick with blood. Peter coughed and laid on the ground, noticing a knife a few inches away, the blade wet and shining in the dim light. 

“Fuck, let’s get out of here,” Logan cursed.

Peter heard him and his cronies run out of the alley. Gasping, Peter fumbled a hand into his pocket and withdrew his mobile again, squinting to try and make out the numbers as he typed with a blood-stained finger. 

“Blythe, I-I need your help,” Peter rasped into the phone. “P-please I’ve been attacked by Logan and his goons. I-I’m really hurt.”

“Stay with me, Peter,” Blythe said. “Where are you?”

“In-in an alley a few blocks from the station,” Peter replied, black spots dancing in his vision. “I’m-I’m losing a lot of blood.”

“I’m on my way,” Blythe promised. “Just stay on the phone with me, okay? Talk to me.”

Peter tried but his mind was moving too slowly, his limbs feeling like bags of wet sand, his muscles leaden and heavy. He curled up on the ground beside his phone, pressing a hand against the wound in his stomach to try and stem the bleeding. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness to escape the pain. 

“Peter, Peter, wake up,” a voice demanded. “Wake up, damn it.”

Peter grunted as someone tapped his face urgently and his eyes slowly opened, his vision still blurry. Blythe and two other people hovered over him.

“He’s awake,” one of the strangers said. “Let’s get him on the gurney.”

Blythe moved aside and Peter groaned as he was lifted up and set down on something. Even though they were gentle, he still yelled as he was jostled around. Blythe stared at him with huge eyes, his face white as snow.

“Jesus, they really did a number on you,” he said. He looked up at one of the paramedics. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We won’t know that until we get him to the hospital,” one of them replied. “But’s bleeding out and has a possible concussion as well as broken ribs, maybe even a skull fracture. We need to get him out of here.”

Peter barely felt it when they stuck an IV needle into his arm before loading him up into the ambulance with Blythe close by. As they drove, Peter licked his bloody lips and tried to speak.

“Blythe,” he whispered. “I-I need you to do me a favour.”

“Anything, mate,” Blythe replied, moving closer. “What do you need?”

“Call the clinic,” Peter said. “Tell Mark what happened. See if they’ll let him come. I-I need to see him.” The detective’s voice cracked a little as he gripped his partner’s jacket sleeve.

“I’ll get him to you,” Blythe promised. “I swear.”

Peter managed a faint smile before he lost consciousness again.


	16. Chapter 16

Mark waited anxiously by the payphone at the clinic, ticking uncontrollably. He hadn’t heard from Peter at all since their last date the day before. Mark knew he was probably busy with work, but somehow his boyfriend still managed to make time for them to be together. Mark glanced at the clock on the wall. It was half past noon, Peter’s usual lunch time and he still hadn’t called. What was he doing? Was he still at the station? Mark picked at his fingernails and stared at the phone. He knew the number for the station as well as Peter’s mobile number. 

‘Am I supposed to call him?’ Mark thought. ‘Even though he said he would call me?’

He didn’t know if that would make him come across as desperate or needy. Maybe even both. But Mark couldn’t help it. When he was away from Peter it was like missing half his heart. He thought about the detective all the time, drawing him constantly. Peter was on his mind wherever he wasn’t thinking about something else.

‘He’s the best thing to ever happen to me,’ Mark thought.

He wondered if Peter thought the same thing of him. He was always smiling and laughing whenever they were together. Mark smiled to himself but it wavered as he looked at the phone again. He picked it up before he could lose his nerve and dialed Peter’s mobile number. The dial tone rang and rang. Mark tapped his fingers against the wall, feeling his face twitch with each passing second. The dial tone ended and went to voicemail. Mark opened his mouth a couple times, but couldn’t think of anything to say and hung up, sighing as he ran both hands through his hair.

“What’s wrong, mate?” Theo asked, clapping Mark on the back as he approached from behind.

“Peter said he would call me but he hasn’t yet.” Mark replied. “I didn’t want to seem clingy but I couldn’t help it and called him, but it went to voicemail.”

“He might be busy,” Theo said. “Or driving or might not even be near his phone. Have you tried calling his work?”

“I get too nervous whenever I try to call that place,” Mark replied. “One time someone besides Peter picked up and I panicked and hung up.”

Theo chuckled. Mark smiled a little but his eyes drifted back to the phone. Theo watched him.

“He might call tonight before lights out,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me to the rec room, eh? We can play air hockey with those guys from Ward 6.”

Mark hesitated for a few minutes. He felt like something was wrong but couldn’t tell whether he was just overthinking things again. Theo squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on,” he encouraged. “If he does call, one of the nurses will come get you. Don’t waste all day sulking.”

Mark sighed and nodded in agreement. He followed Theo to the rec room. Mark kept himself occupied the best he could, participating in group therapy and playing games with Theo and the others in the rec room. His roommate was due to be released a few days after Mark’s discharge.

“I just need to find a place of my own and then land a job,” he told Mark. “Then I’ll be one step closer to getting Jessie back.”

Mark smiled at his roommate. Theo talked about his daughter as much Mark talked about Peter. Theo had told him many stories about him and Jessie’s life in Ireland before coming to Blackpool after her mother died. He was a great father to her. Mark liked to think he’d make a good father someday, but the idea that he could potentially pass on his Tourette’s scared him so much. He’d struggled with it his whole life and wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all any child, his or not. 

The day wore on. Mark spent most of his time with Theo even though his mind kept drifting Peter. Every hour he asked a nurse or the receptionist at the front desk if he’d received any calls or messages. Each time they said no and Mark grew more worried. It wasn’t like Peter to ghost him like this. 

‘What if he’s changed his mind?’ Mark thought worriedly. ‘Is this his way of breaking up with me?’

His face ticked and he ran his fingers through his hair. Evening came and Mark was in his room, sketching away inside one of his new notebooks one of the nurses had given him. His newest drawing of Peter behind the wheel of his car was coming along quite nicely. It helped calm Mark’s nerves a little. Theo came into the room later and laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his hands laced beneath his head. 

“Have you heard from Peter yet?” he asked.

“No,” Mark admitted. “I’m getting worried. This isn’t like him.”

Theo started to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the door. A nurse opened it.

“Mark?” she said. “You have a phone call at the front desk. It sounded urgent.”

Mark felt his heart drop into his stomach. He set his notebook and pen aside and followed the nurse to the front desk, where the receptionist handed him the phone.

“Hello?” Mark asked. “Peter?”

“Mark?” an unfamiliar man’s voice asked. “Mark Furness?”

“Yes,” Mark replied hesitantly. “Who is this?”

“My name is Blythe,” the man explained. “I’m Peter Carlisle’s partner at the Blackpool Police.”

“Where is Peter?” Mark asked. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since yesterday.”

He heard Blythe inhale and exhale slowly. “Peter’s in the hospital. He was attacked last night by these former officers he got fired.”

Mark felt sick to his stomach and twirled the phone cord around his finger. The same officers that had attacked him had now attacked Peter? Mark swallowed.

“Is Peter alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” Blythe replied, almost hesitantly. “He was injured and beaten up pretty bad, but he’s alive. Before he lost consciousness in the ambulance he asked me to call you. He wants to see you.” Mark heard Blythe sigh. “I’m sorry it took me so long to call. Peter was actually in critical condition for a bit before he was stabilized.”

“Which hospital is he at?” Mark asked.

“Blackpool Memorial,” Blythe replied. “Room 306.”

“Thank you for calling me,” Mark said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hung up and caught the attention of the nearest nurse. “I need an overnight pass. Two, actually please.”

Five minutes later, Mark and Theo were in a cab, driving through the nighttime traffic. Mark knew he was ticking like crazy but couldn’t help it. He ran his fingers through his hair, wrung his hands, shifted around in his seat. Theo reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

“Relax, mate,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

“Thank you for coming,” Mark told him. “I’m not sure I could handle this alone.”

“No problem,” Theo replied. “Thanks for letting me come.”

Mark nodded and suddenly the cab lurched to a stop. They had arrived at Blackpool Memorial Hospital, a huge, imposing building with many windows and bright lights. Mark swallowed as he and Theo got out of the cab. They entered the hospital and Mark’s nose burned with the medicinal smell of antiseptic and cleaning solution. 

“May I help you, gentlemen?” asked a young man behind the front desk.

“Yes,” Mark replied. “Is there a patient here named Peter Carlisle?”

“Yes,” the man answered. “He’s on the third floor, room 306. Are you family?”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Mark replied. “Can I see him?”

The man nodded. “Of course. The elevator is down the hall to the right.”

“Thanks,” Theo said. “Let’s go.”

He and Mark walked down the hall to the elevator. They took it up to the third floor, Mark twitching and ticking the whole time. The elevator dinged as the doors opened and they headed down the long hallway. Mark checked each room number as they walked, determined to find where Peter was. 

“Look there,” Theo said, pointing to a door near the end of the hallway, the number 306 stenciled onto it.

Mark sighed and rushed toward it with Theo at his heels. As they approached the door it opened and another man stepped out, dressed in rumpled clothes, an ID lanyard hanging from his neck. He looked up as Mark and Theo approached.

“You’re Mark Furness?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mark replied, recognizing the man’s voice from the phone. “You must be Blythe.”

“Yeah,” the man agreed, offering his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mark. Peter’s told me a lot about you.” He sighed. “I just wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”

Mark nodded in agreement as he shook Blythe’s hand. Theo stepped forward and offered his own hand.

“I’m Theo,” he said. “Mark’s roommate at the clinic.”

Blythe shook hands with Theo as well. Mark nervously adjusted the strap of his messenger bag.

“Is Peter awake?” he asked.  
“No, not yet,” Blythe answered. “He’s been asleep from the morphine but the doctor said now that they’ve lowered the dosage he’ll wake up in another hour.”

“Can I see him?” Mark asked.

Blythe nodded and opened the door for him. Mark entered with Theo behind him. The room was dark, the lights having been dimmed and the curtains closed around the window. The curtains had also been drawn around the bed in the middle of the room, near a door Mark assumed was a bathroom. He took a deep breath and approached the bed, pushing the curtains aside. He tried to prepare himself for seeing Peter, but his eyes widened as he saw his boyfriend and his heart stopped for a split second. 

Peter was laid on his back, the blankets covering him from the waist down. His bare torso was exposed, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, covered in vivid bruises. A large piece of gauze was taped to the right side of his stomach, a few spots of blood speckling the white. Peter’s face was the same save for the bruise that circled his left eye and another one on the right side of his jaw. 

“Peter,” Mark whispered.

He reached out and took one of Peter’s limp hands in his, interlacing their fingers. 

“Jesus, what the hell happened to him?” Theo asked.

“He was attacked by these officers he helped get fired,” Blythe explained. “They jumped him last night when he was walking him from the station. They sabotaged his car to make sure he fell into their trap.”

“Will he be okay?” Mark asked, running his thumb across Peter’s knuckles. “You said on the phone he was critical for awhile.”

“He was,” Blythe agreed. “The doctor said that he has a concussion and a few fractured ribs.” 

Mark looked at the gauze on Peter’s side. “What happened there?”

“That’s where he was stabbed,” Blythe answered grimly. “The doc told me that Peter was lucky it wasn’t a few more inches deeper or he would’ve bled out even faster. They stopped the bleeding and then stitched him up.”

Mark felt like throwing up. He couldn’t believe that this had happened. 

“Please tell me you caught the bastards that did this,” he said.

“We did,” Blythe confirmed. “After Peter called me and I called for help, I found the knife he’d been stabbed with. It still had clear fingerprints on the handle. We caught Logan and his goons on the road. They were trying to get to Heathrow and leave the country. All of them are in custody at the station.”

“Thank goodness,” Mark muttered.

He squeezed Peter’s hand but his boyfriend remained asleep. His hair hung above his eyes and his lower lip had a small, scabbed over cut on it. 

“When will he wake up?” Mark asked.

“The doctor said when his meds wear off,” Blythe replied. “But he also warned Peter could still be kind of out of it because of his concussion.”

Mark nodded but a dark thought suddenly entered his mind. What if Peter didn’t remember him because of his head injury? Mark grimaced as his face ticked and shook his head. He couldn’t think like that. Blythe left the room to take a phone call but Theo remained. He came over and put his hand on Mark’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Do you want me to leave too?” he asked. 

“No,” Mark replied. “You can stay, Theo. I think I need you to.”

Theo nodded and sat in a chair on the far side of the room, giving Mark and Peter space. Mark held Peter’s hand and rested his chin on the bed rail, watching his boyfriend’s face as the clock on the wall ticked away. The hours dragged on. Mark stayed awake despite the late hour and finally, at two in the morning, he heard Peter groan softly. Mark leaned closer, watching his boyfriend’s face closely as Peter stirred to life. He winced as he tried to open his eyes and inhaled sharply, shaking his head a little on the pillow.

“Peter?” Mark asked softly, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. “I’m here, love.”

Peter blinked and looked over, his expression going from confused to relieved. He managed a smile and his eyes sparkled with emotion.

“Mark,” he croaked. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” Mark replied, kissing Peter’s knuckles. 

The detective smiled and tried to sit up, but groaned as the motion pulled at his stab wound, the stitches in his side. Mark placed his other hand on Peter’s chest, blushing a little at touching bare skin but not pulling away.

“Don’t try to move, love,” Mark said. “You’ll pull your stitches out.” He stroked some of Peter’s hair off his face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I fell off a building and then got hit by a bus,” Peter replied. “But I think I’ve been worse.”

Mark laughed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He cupped Peter’s cheek in his hand, stroked the bruise on his jaw before leaning down and kissing him. Both men sighed into the kiss. Peter reached up with his other hand and gripped Mark’s wrist, closing his eyes as he relaxed into it. When they pulled away, Mark rested his forehead against Peter’s, their noses brushing against each other.

“I love you,” Mark whispered. 

“I love you too,” Peter whispered back.

Mark stroked his face again, staring into those big brown eyes. The moment was broken by Blythe entering the room with a young woman in white coat.

“Peter, you’re awake,” Blythe exclaimed, rushing over to the bed.

“Hey, Blythe,” Peter said. “Thanks for getting me here.” 

“You’re welcome,” Blythe replied.

The doctor smiled and stepped forward. “Welcome back, Detective Carlisle. How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” Peter replied. “My head kinda hurts and so does my chest every time I breathe.”

“You were quite injured when you arrived here yesterday evening,” the doctor explained. “You have a concussion as well four rib fractures and an eight inch stab wound. Luckily nothing vital was punctured but you’d lost a lot of blood by the time an ambulance brought you here.”

Peter touched the patch of gauze on his side. “If this is what lucky feels like, I don’t even want to know what bad luck feels like.”

The doctor laughed and placed her hand on the end of the bed. “The good news is that now that you’re awake and stable we can discharge you tomorrow morning. Do you have anyone at home who can help you out? It’s important you don’t strain yourself while your wounds heal, especially your stitches. If you move around too much the wound could open again.”

“I live alone,” Peter admitted. “Have for a while, actually.”

“We’ll still discharge you but you should find someone to stay with you,” the doctor replied. “For now get some rest and don’t hesitate to ask a nurse or me if you need something.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Peter said.

She nodded and left the room. Blythe patted Peter’s shoulder, shook Mark’s hand and Theo’s, then left as well. Peter sighed and rubbed his head, wincing a little.

“You should rest,” Mark told him. 

“You’ll stay?” Peter asked. 

“Theo and I got overnight passes,” Mark explained. “I’m not going anywhere.” He bit his lip suddenly, his cheek twitching.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“Nothing, it’s just that,” Mark rubbed his neck. “I get discharged from the clinic tomorrow too. What if I stayed with you at your flat?” He licked his lips. “If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Of course I want that,” Peter said. “I’d been meaning to ask you if you wanted to move in with me after you were released.”

“Really?” Mark asked. 

Peter nodded and Mark kissed him again. 

“I’d love to move in with you, Peter,” he said. “We’ll figure all that out in the morning, though, okay? Get some sleep, love.” He kissed Peter’s forehead, smoothing his hair back. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Peter closed his eyes and brought his and Mark’s joined hands to his chest, over his heart. Mark kissed his boyfriend’s forehead again and stroked his hair, finally feeling at ease. Theo gave him a thumbs up from across the room before slipping out the door to get a drink. Mark faced Peter again, listening to his breathing, feeling his heartbeat under their hands as his chest rose and fell.


	17. Chapter 17

Peter groaned as he tried to put his shirt on, the motion pulling at the stitches in his side. They itched like crazy beneath the gauze but the doctor told him it was normal, a sign that the wound was healing. Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand that for weeks but at least he was finally going home. He finished buttoning shirt and rubbed his chest, the bruises there fading but he still felt pain from the rib fractures that hadn’t healed yet. He had been given meds to help with the pain as well as instructions to clean and care for his wound until it healed. Peter sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, then over his chin, feeling the stubble there.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked. 

Peter looked over just as his boyfriend entered the room, wearing jeans and a T-shirt beneath a jacket, his messenger bag over his shoulder. The familiar sight of Mark made Peter smile.

“You’re back,” he said. “How’d it go?”

“I’m a free man,” Mark replied. “Are you?”

“Just about,” Peter said. “Just need to fill out some paperwork and then I’ll be out of here.” He grinned and reached out toward Mark. “Now come over here. I missed you.”

Mark crossed the room and set his bag down onto a nearby chair. Peter was sitting up in bed, his legs hanging over the side of it with the railing lowered. Mark stood in front of him and tried to hug him, but Peter held his hands up.

“I want to hug you properly,” he said. “Can you help me up please?”

Mark seemed to hesitate before he nodded. He offered Peter his hands and slowly helped him stand up from the bed. Peter hissed a little at the tugging of his stitches but remained standing.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, concern in his eyes.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He slipped his arms around Mark’s waist. “Better now.”

Mark chuckled and hugged Peter back gently. Peter sighed as he nosed at Mark’s soft curls and inhaled his scent, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I was only gone for five minutes,” Mark replied, laughter in his voice. 

“Five minutes to long,” Peter retorted. 

Mark laughed and nuzzled his face against Peter’s shoulder, then pulled back so that their eyes met. He smiled and Peter smiled back, stroked Mark’s cheek before pulling him into a gentle kiss. Mark wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck and stroked his hair, the nape of his neck. They only broke apart when a snort came from the doorway.

“Lovebirds,” Blythe said. “Can I have your attention for a minute?”

Peter grumbled against Mark’s lips and his boyfriend laughed. Peter turned to face his partner, who was leaning against the doorframe holding a clipboard, his tie loose around his neck.

“What do you need, Blythe?” Peter asked.

“The nurse just dropped off your discharge forms,” Blythe replied, coming over and handing him the clipboard. “Once you fill these out you’ll be free.”

“Thank God,” Peter said, taking the forms.

As he filled them out, Mark stayed close by, sitting beside him on the bed. Peter filled out the forms quickly and then handed them to his nurse when she came by again. Blythe lingered as well. He’d been hanging around the hospital since Peter had first been admitted and only left if he had to. Mark had been at the hospital for two days since Blythe had called him and had only left to return to the clinic and collect his things before he was discharged. His roommate, Theo, was still in the clinic and was due to be discharged in a few more days. He sent Peter his best though as well as a letter telling him to look after Mark.

“I picked your car up from the shop by the way,” Blythe told Peter. “I brought it back to your place earlier this morning.”

“Thanks, mate,” Peter said. “I owe you one.”

“Several, actually, but don’t worry about that now,” Blythe replied. “I’ll go bring my car around to the front.”

He left the room and Peter slowly stood up from the bed. Mark placed a hand on his back, staying close to him in case he fell. Peter remained on his feet though until a nurse came in with a wheelchair. Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed at the sight.

“I don’t need that,” he said. “I can walk just fine.”

“It’s hospital policy, Mr. Carlisle,” the nurse explained apologetically.

Peter grumbled but Mark rubbed his arm soothingly.

“It’s just for a bit,” he said. 

Peter sighed and nodded, squeezing Mark’s hand. He settled into the wheelchair and allowed himself to be wheeled down the hallway. Mark followed closely, walking alongside him until they exited the hospital. Blythe was waiting outside with his car, making sure it was warm to ward off the brisk December air. Peter took a deep breath and slowly eased himself up out of the chair, wincing as the motion pulled at his stitches. Mark was at his side in an instant, helping him stand up and opening the car door for him.

“Thanks,” Peter said as he climbed into the back seat.

“No problem,” Mark replied, shutting the door behind him and then getting in on the other side.

There was a small suitcase on the floor, containing the clothes and toiletry items given to Mark by the clinic staff. Blythe made sure they were all strapped in before he drove away from the hospital to Peter’s flat. Peter rested his head on the window for a bit but then Mark reached over and took his hand again, making him look over. Peter smiled at his boyfriend and pressed closer to him, kissing the crown of his head. Mark rested his head on Peter’s shoulder, interlacing their fingers as they drove.

In ten minutes they reached Peter’s flat. Blythe helped them both out of the car and up the front steps.

“Take of yourselves, guys,” he told them. “The Chief said to take all the time you need, Peter. Don’t come back to work until you’re ready, okay? Take it easy.”

“I will,” Peter promised. “Thanks, Blythe.”

They shook hands and Blythe turned to Mark. 

“Thanks for everything, Blythe,” Mark said. “I’ll look after Peter.”

“Good,” Blythe replied. He offered his hand. “Take care, Mark.”

They shook hands and Blythe drove away. Peter shivered in the cold air, his breath showing in pale clouds. He had no jacket and wore only some jeans and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. 

“Let’s get inside,” Mark suggested. “You shouldn’t be out here like this.”

“Good idea,” Peter replied.

He led Mark into the building and up to his flat on the third floor. Peter opened the door with his keys and led Mark inside.

“It’s not much but it’s home,” he said, placing his keys on the coffee table. “There’s two bedrooms down that hallway and the bathroom is directly across from the main bedroom.”

“This place is nice,” Mark marveled, looking around.

Peter smiled as he led his boyfriend down the hallway to the bedrooms. Mark followed him into the main bedroom.

“You can put your clothes wherever you want,” Peter told him. “There’s plenty of space in the closet and the dresser.”

“Thanks,” Mark said. “I don’t have much though, just some that were donated to the clinic by a thrift store.”

He set his small suitcase on the floor and removed four different shirts, another pair of jeans, some socks, underwear, a sweatshirt, and two long-sleeve shirts. He put them away among Peter’s clothes in the closet and dresser.

“The holidays are coming up,” Peter mused. “Maybe I can take you shopping sometime.”

Mark smiled as he turned around. “I’d like that but you don’t have to do that, Peter.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Peter replied. “I want to.”

Mark hummed as he came over and put his arms around Peter, kissing him gently. Peter sighed against their lips and pulled Mark closer. They kissed for a few minutes before Peter pulled away when his stomach growled. Mark laughed and so did Peter.

“Let’s get some food, eh, love?” Mark said. “Do you have anything?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen,” Peter replied.

They left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. Peter tried to cook but Mark wouldn’t allow him to, fearing that excess motion could pull at his stitches. They ordered in instead and ate takeout on the couch in the living room, watching an old movie on TV. Afterward they lounged together, watched the sunset over the city from the large window in the main room. Mark cuddled against Peter on the couch and Peter pulled him closer, arranging them so that he was laying down on his good side with Mark on his chest.

“Thank you for letting me move in with you,” Mark said, looking into his boyfriend’s perfect brown eyes. 

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied, caressing Mark’s face. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“So am I.”

Mark grinned and his eyes gleamed. Peter grinned back and they kissed again and again, then held still for a moment, resting their foreheads together. Peter suddenly realized that Mark hadn't twitched or ticked once all day.

“I love you, Peter,” Mark whispered. 

“I love you too, Mark,” Peter whispered back. 

He felt warm and full and comfortable, not really wanting to move from where they were on the couch. Mark fell asleep first, cuddled against Peter’s chest, his breathing gentle and soft. Peter pulled the blanket that was spread out across the back of the couch over them and propped himself with a cushion. He kissed Mark’s forehead and inhaled the scent of his hair, pressing his face into the soft curls as he closed his eyes, falling asleep in the embrace of his boyfriend and soothed by the rhythm of their hearts beating as one.


	18. Chapter 18

Mark watched Peter sleeping on the couch, his face bathed in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree that had been set up next to it. He wore jeans and T-shirt, was barefoot, and his hair was messy, falling over his forehead. He’d been sleeping for close to two hours and looked so peaceful Mark was loath to disturb him. Instead he kissed Peter’s forehead and picked up their plates from the coffee table, taking them to the kitchen. He put the dishes in the sink and stored the leftovers of their Chinese food in the fridge. Mark poured himself another glass of wine and sipped it slowly as he left the kitchen to go back to the living room.

Peter’s breathing was soft and even as he slept. Mark watched him for a moment, studying the contours of his face, his sharp jawline, his nose, the shape of his perfect lips, his eyebrows. Mark felt the urge to draw and left the room to retrieve his sketchbook, setting his wine glass on the table. He walked to the spare bedroom and rummaged through one of the nightstands by the bed until he found it in the top drawer, along with a pen and a pencil. He closed the drawer and looked around the bedroom. He’d been living with Peter for almost two weeks and it was still hard to believe.

Because Peter was still recovering from the attack by Logan and his goons, they’d been together a lot, mostly spending their time in the living room, watching TV and movies together and often ordering in since neither of them were very deft in the kitchen. Every night though Peter slept in his bedroom and Mark slept in the other one. He wasn’t sure how much longer it would take before he was ready to actually be physical with Peter. The most they’d done so far was make outs and heavy petting on the couch. Mark could tell how badly Peter wanted to be with him and he wanted it too, just as badly, if not more, but Mark also had his own insecurities. What if he ticked the whole time? What if he barked or made some other stupid noise?

Mark grimaced and shook his head to clear his mind. He returned to the living room and found Peter still asleep though he’d changed positions. He was now on his back, one arm over his head and the other on his stomach. His shirt had ridden up slightly, showing a flash of pale skin at his navel. Mark bit his lip as he sat down in the nearby armchair and opened his sketchbook to find a blank page. He began to draw and lost himself for a while, the only sound in the room Peter’s breathing and the dull scratching of pencil against paper. Mark knew he’d never tire of drawing Peter. He was the perfect muse. As he shaded Peter’s eyebrows, a soft noise broke the peace of the room.

Mark looked up from his drawing and saw Peter beginning to wake up. His eyes fluttered open slowly as he yawned and licked his lips, rubbing his chest. Mark chuckled and Peter looked over at him, running his fingers through his messy hair. He offered Mark a drowsy smile, his eyes still heavy with sleep. 

“Hey,” he said groggily, rubbing his eyes. He looked at the sketchbook in Mark’s lap. “Are you drawing me again?”

“Yes,” Mark answered. “I can’t help it. You’re the best muse I’ve ever had.”

Peter chuckled as he sat up, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back with a groan and a hiss as his joints cracked loudly. His shirt rode up higher and Mark saw the patch of gauze on the right side of his stomach. Blood spots had soaked through it and he frowned.

“You’re bleeding through your bandage,” Mark said. “Maybe we should change it and check your stitches.”

Peter looked down and touched the bandage. “Okay, good idea.”

He slowly stood up from the couch and stretched again, then followed Mark to the bathroom down the hall. Mark switched the light on and pulled the first-aid kit out from the cabinet beneath the sink, setting it on the edge. He opened it and removed some new gauze as well as some antiseptic gel. 

“Lift your shirt up,” Mark instructed Peter. “I need better access to remove and replace the gauze.”

“Okay,” Peter replied.

He lifted his shirt up to his chest and exposed his whole torso. Mark bit his lip again. Peter’s body was lithe and wiry, muscle beneath fair freckled skin. The gauze on his side stood out against the dark hair that trailed down his stomach and on his chest. Marl fought the urge to blush and tic as he reached out and carefully pulled the gauze away from Peter’s skin. The other man hissed as the motion pulled at his stitches. Mark tossed the old gauze into the trash and examined the wound. The stitches were dissolving and the wound itself looked better, less red and angry than it had been before, smaller as well. Mark placed his fingers lightly at the edge of the wound, feeling how warm Peter’s skin was.

“It looks better,” Mark reported. “It’s not even bleeding. I’ll still put some gel on it and then cover it to be safe.”

“Okay,” Peter said, his voice a little quiet. 

Mark washed his hands before picking up the tube of antiseptic gel and squirting some onto his hand. He carefully rubbed the gel into Peter’s skin. The muscles in Peter’s abdomen jumped at the touch and goosebumps appeared across his skin. He sucked in a breath and Mark stopped.

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “M’fine.”

Mark nodded and finished with the gel, then placed it back in the kit. He used medical tape to hold the new piece of gauze in place and made it sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose. Mark put the first-aid kit away.

“You can put your shirt down now,” he told Peter. 

Peter let his shirt fall back into place. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark replied. 

Peter edged a little closer to him and wrapped his arms around Mark’s waist, pulling him even closer. His brown eyes were darker than before. Mark licked his lips and noticed Peter follow the movement of his tongue. The air in the bathroom was tense. Mark was suddenly aware of how good Peter smelled, how warm he was, how real. Peter leaned in first, placing his lips gently against Mark’s. His lips were soft and dry. Mark sighed and wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck, threading his fingers through his boyfriend’s silky hair. Peter pressed Mark against the sink and his tongue prodded at the seam of Mark’s lips, asking for access that the other man gave. 

Peter tasted so sweet and he held Mark’s body flush against his own. They made out for several minutes before they broke away for air. Peter began trailing kisses down Mark’s jaw and his throat, nibbling the skin gently. Mark moaned when Peter reached his ear and bit down lightly on the lobe.

“Peter,” Mark moaned, tilting his head back.

The detective pulled back instantly. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

Mark hesitated. His heart was racing and his stomach was fluttering with nerves, but not in a bad way. Peter watched him closely. Mark swallowed.

“No,” he said. 

Peter smiled and kissed him again, his hands holding Mark’s hips tightly as he pressed him against the sink. Mark could feel heat pooling in his groin, his belly. His breathing was getting rough as was Peter’s. The detective kissed down Mark’s neck again and bit down on some flesh, laving his tongue over the mark he left behind. Mark groaned and suddenly needed more. He needed to feel Peter. He tugged at the hem of Peter’s shirt and his boyfriend pulled out of their kiss to pull the garment off and over his head. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” Peter asked, placing his hand on Mark’s chest, toying with the buttons. 

“Yeah,” Mark replied. 

He pulled Peter into a kiss and felt his long fingers pulling at his shirt buttons. Mark shrugged his shirt off his shoulders to the floor and groaned at the feel of Peter’s warm skin against his. He splayed his fingers against Peter’s stomach, watching the muscles jump at his touch, then up his wiry chest, petting through the thick hair there. Peter slotted a slender thigh between his legs and Mark groaned at the pressure against his erection. His jeans felt tight and his blood tingled in his veins.

“Bedroom?” Peter asked huskily, his lips red and perfect. 

Mark licked his lips and nodded. Peter kissed him again and took his hand, leading him to his bedroom. 

“We can go slow,” Peter said as they stood in front of his bed, hand in hand.

“Sod slow,” Mark growled, pulling Peter into a messy kiss.

They fell onto the bed, Mark pulling Peter down on top of himself, running his hands all over his boyfriend’s perfect body, tracing the edge of the gauze. That made Mark stop suddenly and he pulled back, panting, his lips itching from the intensity of their kisses.

“Peter, wait,” he said as the other man kissed down his throat. “Wait.”

“What?” Peter asked, pulling back. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

“No, it’s just, your stitches,” Mark said, placing his hand gently on the covered wound. 

Peter looked down at himself and back up at Mark, his eyes dark and heated. “They’re fine, love. I’m fine.” He stroked Mark’s cheek. “Do you want to continue?”

Mark nodded and Peter smiled. He kissed Mark again before kissing down his neck, his shoulder, to his chest. Mark yelped when Peter’s warm tongue swirled around one of his nipples. He felt his boyfriend smile against his skin, and Peter looked up, eyes dancing with mischief as he playfully nipped the tender bud. 

“You’re so beautiful, Mark,” Peter whispered as he kissed down his boyfriend’s torso. 

Mark blushed and felt his cheek twitch. He moaned when Peter kissed over the bulge in his jeans, then cupped him through the fabric, rubbing him. Mark keened and Peter deftly undid his button and zipper, slipping his hand into Mark’s underwear, wrapping his warm fingers around the shaft. Mark moaned and grabbed Peter’s biceps, rocking his hips to the rhythm of Peter stroking him.

“I want to make love to you, Mark,” Peter breathed. “Please, let me.”

“Yes, Peter,” Mark agreed. “Please make love to me.”

Peter nodded and took his hand out of Mark’s underwear, helping him slide his jeans down and off his legs to the floor. Peter fumbled with his belt buckle and Mark sat up to help him, sliding it free from his jeans and tossing it aside. Mark unbuttoned and unzipped Peter’s jeans, helped him pull them down his hips and off onto the floor, leaving them both in their underwear. Peter kissed Mark again and palmed him through his briefs. Mark moaned and nodded at his boyfriend, giving Peter permission to take them off. Peter did and Mark shivered as he was fully exposed to his boyfriend’s gaze.

“God, you are so beautiful,” Peter breathed. He stroked Mark’s cheek again. “Do you trust me? Trust me to make you feel good?”

Mark nodded, his face ticking. Peter smiled though and kissed his nose, then settled between Mark’s legs, kissing inner thighs before focusing on his erection. Peter licked from the root to the leaking head, lapping at the bead of fluid that pearled there. Mark moaned as Peter stroked him, his fingers warm and firm. He took the head of Mark’s erection into his mouth, suckling gently. Mark gasped and Peter took him further into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked, bobbing his head in time with his stroking.

Mark moaned and gasped, his toes curling against the sheets. He reached down and tangled his fingers in Peter’s hair, pulling slightly. Peter moaned and Mark gasped as he felt the vibrations reverberate through him. Peter’s mouth was so warm and wet, his tongue laving attention to the sensitive underside of Mark’s cock. He looked up at Mark as he sucked, his eyes dark and full of desire. Mark could feel a tightening in his groin, heat rising in his stomach. His orgasm was building and he didn’t want this to end. He tugged at Peter’s hair.

“Peter, stop,” he gasped. “I’m gonna come.”

Peter pulled off, his lips swollen, a strand of drool hanging from his bottom lip, connected to Mark’s cock. 

“I want to come with you inside me,” Mark breathed.

“Yes,” Peter agreed.

He crawled back up Mark’s body and kissed him. Mark moaned, tasting himself on Peter’s tongue. Peter fumbled a hand over to the nightstand and removed a bottle of lube as well a small box. He tipped the contents out onto the bed and Mark saw the condoms. He froze for half a second, long enough for Peter to notice.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Mark blinked and looked away from the condoms back to Peter’s face. “Nothing, love. I’m fine.” He looked down at the leaking bulge in Peter’s boxers. “Do you want me to…?” He trailed off, biting his lip.

“No,” Peter replied, stroking his face. “You don’t have to.”

Mark nodded and Peter flipped opened the lube, drizzling some onto his fingers. He settled between Mark’s leg again and rubbed his thigh.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.

“No,” Mark replied, feeling his blush extend down to his chest. 

“It’s okay,” Peter soothed. “I’ve got you. This might feel strange at first but it won’t last long. It’ll start to feel good, but just let me know if I’m hurting you and I’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay,” Mark replied.

Peter nodded and Mark took a deep breath when he felt a fingertip at his entrance. He willed himself not to tense up as Peter’s finger entered his body. Mark couldn’t hold back a hiss and Peter kneaded his thigh gently with his other hand. Mark relaxed and nodded for Peter to continue. Peter added a second finger, scissoring them and Mark moaned. It was a strange but satisfying sensation. Peter added a third finger and he crooked them just so, hitting a spot in Mark’s body that made him see stars, his cock gushing out a bit of precome.

“Peter,” Mark moaned. “Please, take me!”

Peter’s eyes flashed and he growled. He withdrew his fingers and opened a condom, rolled it onto his erection and slicked himself up. He positioned himself and Mark’s legs came up to bracket either side of his hips. Peter’s hands were on either side of Mark’s head and Mark wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck.. Their eyes met as Peter slowly pushed himself into Mark. Both men moaned loudly. The stretch of Peter’s cock inside him was forgein and almost painful, but Mark focused on his breathing and Peter held still, letting him adjust to the feeling.

“How do you feel?” Peter asked, his voice tight.

“Good,” Mark replied, stroking his neck. “Great, actually.” He wrapped his legs around Peter’s hips. “You can move, love. I’m okay.”

Peter nodded and began to thrust, gently at first but quickly built a steady rhythm. The pleasure was indescribable to Mark. He moaned and gasped with each thrust of Peter’s hips, lost in ecstasy. Peter was moaning as well, pressing his forehead against Mark’s as he increased his speed slightly. The bed began to bang into the wall and Mark cried out as Peter hit that spot again. 

“Yes, Peter, yes,” he moaned. “Fuck, that feels so good. Please don’t stop, don’t stop, please.”

“Christ, Mark, you’re so bloody tight,” Peter growled. “So warm and tight and fucking perfect for me.”

He kissed Mark sloppily as he thrust faster, nailing Mark’s prostate dead on. Mark scratched his nails down Peter’s smooth back, feeling the muscles shifting and rippling beneath the flesh. The room was full of their moans and groans of pleasure, the bed squeaking and banging against the wall. Mark snaked a hand between them and stroked his own cock in time with Peter’s movement, feeling the precome leaking between their stomachs. Peter shifted his hips and thrust once more. Mark yelled Peter’s name and his cock spilled thick ropes of warm come between them and all over his hand. Peter kissed him and it wasn’t long before he came as well, crying out Mark’s name as his body seized up, the muscles of his back rippling beneath Mark’s palm as he came. 

Peter collapsed on top of Mark, panting. Mark could feel Peter’s heart racing in time with own, their skin sticky with sweat and come. Peter nuzzled Mark’s ear and kissed the skin beneath it before pulling out slowly. He removed the condom and tossed it into the trash can by his bed. He laid down beside Mark and sighed, resting his head on a pillow. 

“I love you, Mark,” Peter whispered before drifting off to sleep.

Mark wanted to reply but his throat had closed up. His mouth was dry and his mind was suddenly full of too many thoughts. He laid awake beside Peter for a long time, staring at the ceiling.

When Peter awoke a few hours later, he reached his hand across the bed without really opening his eyes, searching for Mark. When he felt nothing but empty sheets, he grumbled and forced his eyes open. The bedroom was quiet and Peter could hear rain falling steadily outside. Mark was gone and the fact that the sheets were cold meant he’d been gone a while. Peter frowned and sat up, running a hand through his tousled tawny locks. He got up out of bed, rubbing the gauze on his side and pulled on his underwear, then his robe. He went out into the hallway and checked the spare bedroom and bathroom for Mark, but there was no sign of him.

“Mark?” Peter called out worriedly.

He bit his lip when there was no answer. Did Mark leave? Had their first time been that bad? 

‘Did I scare him off somehow?’ Peter thought. 

Mark had seemed to enjoy what they’d done but then Peter remembered that even though he’d said ‘“I love you,’” to Mark, his boyfriend hadn’t said it back. That wasn’t like him at all. Peter swallowed down several awful thoughts as he rounded the corner into the living room. Relief flooded him when he saw Mark sitting on the window seat, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring out at the rain pouring over the city. The Christmas tree was still plugged in, multi-coloured lights twinkling brightly. Peter admired Mark’s silhouette against the window, bathed in light and shadow.

“Mark?” Peter asked. “Are you okay?”

His boyfriend jumped and turned his head. His eyes were red and a little swollen. Peter frowned in concern.

“Love, what’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” Mark replied quickly. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Peter saw his face tick before Mark turned away. He had put his jeans back on but was still shirtless. Peter sat down with him on the window seat.

“Mark, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you...did you not like what we did?”

“No, of course I did,” Mark replied. “It’s just, something stupid that I’ve been thinking about. It’s not your fault. It’s just me.”

Peter wasn’t sure he understood. “Afterward, you didn’t say you loved me back.”

“I do love you, Peter,” Mark answered instantly, finally facing his boyfriend. “Of course I do.” He blinked and grimaced. Suddenly, he blurted, “Was that a sympathy fuck?”

“What?” Peter asked, genuinely confused. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

Mark’s eyes flashed with emotion. He took a deep breath and sighed. 

“Stevie came to me one day,” he explained. “During the time when I was getting better thanks to Charlotte and her support group. We had sex and she just happened to have condoms with her. I thought it was a sign we would get back together but Charlotte told me it was just a sympathy fuck because Stevie felt sorry for me. Later she told me it was because she wanted me to be ‘her Mark’ again.”

Peter was floored. Mark wiped at his eyes and sniffled. Peter reached for him and Mark let himself be pulled into an embrace. 

“I’m sorry, love,” Peter whispered, kissing Mark’s hair. “I didn’t know that.”

Mark didn’t say anything but pressed closer, burying his face in the crook of Peter’s neck. The detective rubbed his boyfriend’s back and stroked his hair until Mark’s sobs settled. 

“Look at me, Mark,” Peter said softly. “Look at me please, love.”

Mark pulled back and looked into Peter’s eyes. Peter cupped his face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I love you, Mark Furness,” Peter said firmly. “I love you so much. I’m grateful for the day I met you and I always will be. For as long as you want me, I’ll be here. I promise.”

New tears welled in Mark’s eyes and he kissed Peter passionately. 

“I love you too, Peter,” Mark said. “So much. I’m so happy I met you. And I’ll always want you here with me.”

“Then I’ll always be here,” Peter promised. 

They kissed again and Peter stood up, offering Mark his hand.

“Come back to bed,” he said. “It’s late and cold without you.”

Mark smiled and took Peter’s hand. They went back to the bedroom and Mark removed his jeans, Peter his robe and got into bed, under the heavy duvet. Mark curled up against Peter’s chest and sighed contentedly. Peter kissed his forehead.

“Thank you, Peter,” Mark whispered. “I love you.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied. “I love you too, Mark.”

Both of them fell asleep wrapped around each other as the rain outside turned to snow.


	19. Chapter 19

Peter woke up the next morning a little after dawn. He blinked his eyes against the winter sunlight shining into the bedroom, casting thin rays across the floor. Watery shadows danced along the wall, light trying to cut through the thick frost on the windows. Peter squinted and could see snow still steadily falling outside. He yawned and pulled the thick blanket higher over his chest, looking from the window to his sleeping partner. Mark was curled on his side, his back to Peter, breathing gently and evenly. Peter shifted across the bed and moved closer to his boyfriend, wrapping an arm around Mark’s waist, tangling their legs together beneath the blanket.

Mark’s skin was warm and smooth against Peter’s. The detective pressed a kiss between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, noting the soft sigh he received in response. Peter kissed higher, to the nape of Mark’s neck, soft curls brushing his nose, while he trailed his hand down his boyfriend’s side, clasping his hip. Mark shifted in his sleep and sighed again, but settled quickly. Peter quirked an eyebrow and pressed another kiss to the skin just beneath Mark’s ear, followed by a gentle bite to the lobe, then a lick. He blew on the lobe and a shiver traveled through Mark’s body. He finally rolled over and Peter was able to see his face. 

Mark’s curls were soft and tousled as Peter brushed some stray strands back from his forehead. His perfect lips were parted slightly as he slept, his face smooth and relaxed. Peter stroked Mark’s brow, noting how different his face seemed when he wasn’t twitching or ticking. It seemed his Tourette’s didn’t act up much when he was asleep. Peter propped himself up on his elbow and continued to study his sleeping boyfriend. A perfect imprint of Peter’s teeth showed on Mark’s neck, just below his right ear. Peter could feel scratches on his back from Mark’s nails and small, fingerprint-shaped bruises encircled his biceps. He smiled to himself and stroked Mark’s face again.

‘He’s so beautiful,’ Peter thought, tracing the shape of Mark’s lips with his thumb.

“I love you,” Peter said softly, stroking Mark’s cheek.

His boyfriend’s eyes fluttered a little but didn’t fully open. Mark cuddled closer, pressing himself against Peter’s chest. Peter chuckled and held Mark close, kissing his hair. He thought about getting up and preparing them some tea and breakfast, but the bed was so comfortable and Mark was so warm and perfect. They could get up later, Peter decided. He pulled the blanket higher over both of them and closed his eyes again, nuzzling his face against Mark’s curls as he fell asleep. 

Peter woke up to the sound of a pencil against paper. He opened his eyes and yawned, running a hand over his face. He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling with one arm over his head. He rubbed his chest and looked over at the source of the noise. Mark was awake, sitting up against the headboard, his sketchbook in his lap as he scribbled away, his face tight with concentration.

“Good morning,” Peter greeted sleepily.

Mark jumped and looked from his drawing. He smiled when he saw Peter was awake and set his things aside, then leaned closer, pecking Peter on the lips.

“Good morning,” Mark replied. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Peter said. 

Mark cupped Peter’s cheek in his palm, stroking the skin beneath his eye with his thumb. Peter leaned into the touch, grasping Mark’s hand and interlacing their fingers. 

“This is the first Christmas that I’m not spending alone,” Mark said quietly. 

“Me too,” Peter replied. “But I think I know how we should spend it. And what I want to give to you.”

His voice was full of lascivious mirth, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he grinned. Mark blushed charmingly but played along.

“What do you want to give to me?” he asked.

Peter playfully growled and pulled Mark into a deep kiss. Mark cupped the sides of Peter’s neck as the blanket fell away from their bodies, allowing Mark to straddle Peter’s waist. The detective sat up against the headboard, running his hands all over his boyfriend’s body as they kissed languidly. Mark tilted his head back as Peter kissed up his throat, his hands sliding up Mark’s back, resting on his shoulder blades. Mark wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders, one hand tangling firmly in his silky hair. 

“I want to make love to you, Mark,” Peter whispered as he kissed along his boyfriend’s collarbone. “All day.” He kissed Mark’s Adam’s apple. “Would you like that? Will you let me make love to you?”

“Yes,” Mark replied. “I want you, Peter.”

Peter kissed up Mark’s chin to his lips again, coaxing him to open his mouth. Mark whined when Peter sucked on his tongue, nails digging into the skin of his boyfriend’s shoulder. They made out for several minutes, driving each other into a frenzy, grinding their clothed erections together through their underwear. Peter tugged at the waistband of Mark’s briefs and slipped his hands inside, gripping his boyfriend’s arse, urging Mark to grind and garner more friction. Mark moaned and mewled, his breathing getting rough. He raised himself up a little off Peter’s lap and let his boyfriend peel off his briefs. Peter wrapped one hand around Mark’s cock, stroking him in time with their grinding.

“I want you inside me, Peter,” Mark begged. “I want you to come in me.”

Peter’s brown eyes grew darker, gleaming with arousal. “You want me to fuck you bareback? Come inside your tight, perfect arse?”

Mark whined at the dirty talk and nodded wildly. Peter pulled down his boxers enough that his cock sprang free up against his belly, clear fluid beading at the flushed head. He grabbed the lube still on the side table from the night before and flipped the cap open, drizzling some onto his fingers. He touched Mark’s entrance gently, tapping it before easing his finger inside. Mark gasped but didn’t tense up, breathing deeply to make sure he relaxed. Peter kissed his chest and licked across one nipple, making his boyfriend moan. Peter added a second finger and crooked them, rubbing Mark’s prostate firmly. Mark keened and his cock pulsed, precome dripping down the shaft.

“Peter, please,” he pleaded. “Don’t tease me, just please, fuck me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, love,” Peter whispered as he added a third slick finger.

Mark moaned loudly and shifted his hips, pushing himself back onto Peter’s fingers. The detective withdrew his fingers and grabbed the lube again, but Mark took it from him and poured some into his own hand. Peter gasped as Mark grasped his erection and stroked him, slicking him up, rubbing his thumb over the leaking head. He guided Peter’s erection and slowly sank down onto him, inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. Both men groaned and Peter tilted his head back, digging his nails into Mark’s back. He was so warm and wet and tight.

“You feel amazing, Mark,” Peter breathed. 

“So do you,” Mark replied. “I feel so...full.”

They both remained still for a moment, letting each other adjust. Mark started moving, rising up slowly and then sinking back down, his hands on Peter’s chest. Peter wanted to start thrusting but held back, using his hands on Mark’s back to guide him. After a minute Mark seemed to gain confidence and began a steady rhythm, rising up and impaling himself down on Peter’s cock, rolling his hips. Peter’s eyes rolled back into his head and he leaned against the headboard, thrusting up to meet Mark’s movements. 

“Fuck, yeah, just like that, love,” Peter murmured. “Fuck, your arse feels so good around my cock.” He bit down on Mark’s neck, laving the bruise he left behind with his agile tongue. 

“You feel so good, Peter,” Mark panted, sweat gathering on his forehead. “So hard and thick, filling me up so well.”

The bed shook with their movements as they grew erratic. Mark touched his forehead to Peter’s as he continued to ride him, looking into his eyes 

“Kiss me,” Mark requested.

Peter surged up to meet Mark’s lips in a desperate kiss, leaving scratches down his boyfriend’s back. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Peter growled. “I’m so close, Mark, so close to coming inside you.”

“Yes, Peter, please,” Mark keened. “I want to come when you do, come when you fill me.”

Peter thrust once, twice, and came with a loud moan of Mark’s name, filling him with warm spurts of come. Mark gasped at the sensation and sank down onto Peter’s cock once more. He cried out as he came, thick white ropes splattering between their stomachs, a few drops catching in Peter’s chest hair. Mark slumped against Peter’s chest, panting and sweaty. Peter pet his back and his hair, also breathing heavily. Mark raised his head up a little and looked into his boyfriend’s eyes once he’d caught his breath.

“I love you,” Mark said.

“I love you too,” Peter replied.

They kissed and Peter rolled them so that Mark was on his back beneath him. He pulled out carefully and felt his spent cock twitch at the sight of own come trickling from Mark’s reddened hole. Peter made to get off the bed but Mark caught his wrist, pulling him back. 

“I was just going to get something to clean us up,” Peter explained.

“Don’t,” Mark replied. “Leave it as it is for now. It’ll be easier for you to enter me again.”

Arousal sent pinpricks up Peter’s spine and he purred, his cock already stirring to life again. He hovered over Mark and kissed him, urging Mark’s legs up to wrap around his hips. They were both hard again and Peter eased himself back into Mark, moaning at the feel of his own spend slicking and easing the way. The second time they came Peter bit down hard on Mark’s shoulder, his body shuddering as he emptied himself into Mark while his boyfriend’s release coated their stomachs. They held each other and caught their breath, lying on their backs with their hands entwined between them.

“Ready to go again?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” Mark replied. “How do you want me?”

“Roll over, onto your side,” Peter requested.

Mark obeyed and Peter pressed himself against his back, lining himself up with Mark’s entrance. The other man reached back and grasped Peter’s arse, urging him closer. Peter pushed in easily, Mark’s hole loose and wet from previous rounds. He nibbled Mark’s ear and pinched his nipples as he rocked his hips. Mark’s nails dug into his arse cheek, feeling the muscle flexing with each thrust. 

“God, you feel so good,” Peter breathed against Mark’s ear. “So loose and open for me.”

“Peter,” Mark whined. “Please.”

Peter bit his earlobe and increased his speed. Mark’s hand left his arse and he reached back to grab Peter’s hair, pulling it, urging Peter on.

“Kiss me, love,” Peter growled. 

Mark craned his neck and their lips met in a messy kiss. Peter came once more and Mark followed suit, staining the sheets beneath them. They slumped against the bed, panting and trading gentle kisses and caresses. 

“I love you,” Peter whispered, nuzzling Mark’s ear, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat.

“I love you too,” Mark replied.

A couple hours later, they were both out in the living room, cuddled on the couch beside the Christmas tree. Mark wore his briefs and one of Peter’s shirts while the detective wore only his boxers and an unzipped hoodie. He stroked Mark’s curls as his boyfriend reached beneath the tree and handed Peter a small wrapped parcel.

“Happy Christmas, Peter,” Mark said. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Peter replied.

Mark shrugged. “I wanted to.”

Peter grinned and took the parcel, slitting it open with his fingernail. He pulled out a gorgeous drawing of him and Mark in front of Blackpool Tower. It was so lifelike.

“Mark, this is amazing,” Peter exclaimed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark replied.

Peter sighed. “Now I feel bad that I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Mark reassured him. “You’re all the present I need.”

Peter grinned and kissed his boyfriend gently on the lips. “Happy Christmas, Mark.”

“Happy Christmas, Peter,” Mark replied.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of Love Is Mental! Thanks for all the love and support for this story!

Peter set the champagne inside a bucket full of ice and placed two delicate glasses beside it. He’d pushed the coffee table closer to the window seat and covered it with a red tablecloth and lit some candles that smelled like apples and cinnamon. He checked the time on his phone and saw it was almost eleven thirty. Peter smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt and over his neatly combed hair. He was so nervous and had no idea why. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he exhaled. He just wanted this to be special. He placed some long stem roses in the vase full of water on the table and adjusted himself once more.

“Okay, Mark, you can come out now,” he called down the hallway.

He heard the bedroom door open and footfalls approaching from the hallway. Peter stood by the decorated table with his hands clasped nervously in front of him. Mark appeared in the living room wearing a button-down shirt and jeans, his feet bare, his curls neat and brushed. He smiled, his blue eyes gleaming when he saw Peter. 

“Peter, you look amazing,” he said, coming closer. “You did all this for me?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “I wanted our first New Year’s together to be special.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck and kissing him sweetly.

Peter sighed into the kiss, his nerves disappearing. He guided Mark to sit down on the window seat and pulled a covered object closer to them, pulling the cloth aside and revealing a fondue pot full of warm, thick melted chocolate. Strawberries, plump and red, sat in a circle around the edge of the plate beneath the pot, along with some metal skewers. Mark smiled again.

“I had no idea you were such a romantic, Peter,” he teased, trailing his fingers up his boyfriend’s chest, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

“I’m full of surprises,” Peter replied with a wink. “I thought this would be a nice way to countdown to midnight. I have a surprise for you then too.”

“What sort of surprise?” Mark asked, arching his eyebrows.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Peter promised. “Until then…” He picked up a strawberry from the plate and dipped into the melted chocolate, swirling it around a bit before withdrawing it, letting some of the excess drip off.

He offered the berry to Mark and his boyfriend smirked. He took hold of Peter’s wrist and took the berry between his lips, biting down with a mischievous look in his eyes. He licked the tips of Peter’s fingers when he was done. Peter growled low in his throat.

“Minx,” he muttered with no heat in his voice. 

Mark chuckled. They passed the time feeding each other strawberries and trading sweet kisses, flavored from the ripe fruit and decadent chocolate. Snow fell and frost gathered at the edges of the windows, but then the sky cleared a few minutes before midnight. Stars gleamed like scattered gems in the sky and the moon was full and bright. 

“We can see the waterfront from here,” Peter explained as they faced the window. “Just keep watching the horizon and you’ll see the surprise.”

“Okay,” Mark replied.

Peter picked up the champagne from the ice bucket as he checked his phone again. Three minutes till midnight. He unwrapped the cork and worried it with his thumb. Two minutes. One minute. As the first firework streaked into the night sky, Peter popped the champagne cork in perfect unison. Mark jumped and then laughed. More fireworks bursts into the sky in an array of gorgeous colours, raining down to the Earth with fizzling sparks. 

“That’s amazing,” Mark breathed. “We have the most perfect view from here.”

“Yes, we do,” Peter agreed, pouring the champagne into the two prepared glasses.

Mark looked over and blushed in the dancing lights from the fireworks when he realized Peter was looking right at him. The detective chuckled and handed him a glass. Mark took and let himself be pulled tightly against Peter’s side, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder as they watched the fireworks. 

“It’s been a crazy year for the both of us, eh?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah, it has,” Mark agreed. “But a good kind of crazy, right?”

Peter smiled and looked into Mark’s eyes. “Yeah. Like how I’m crazy in love with you.”

Mark grinned and raised his glass. “Cheers, Peter. Happy New Year, love.”

“Cheers, Mark,” Peter replied, clinking his glass against Mark’s. “I love you so much.”

They sipped their champagne and then kissed as a red firework exploded in the sky, almost forming a heart before fizzling out. Peter stroked his boyfriend’s face as they kissed, their lips sweet and warm, tongues lightly teasing, teeth nipping.

“I’m so happy I met you, Peter,” Mark whispered between kisses. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mark,” Peter replied. “Always. With all my heart.”

They kissed passionately and Mark slid into Peter’s lap.

“You were the first person to make me feel seen,” Mark said. “The first one to make me feel human, that I wasn’t crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Mark,” Peter protested.

“Yes, I am,” Mark countered. “Crazy for you, about you, all of you.”

Peter felt tears in his eyes and kissed Mark harder.

“I’ll always see you, Mark,” Peter promised. 

“Take me, Peter,” Mark gasped. “Please.”

Peter nodded, his eyes darkened with lust. They made love slowly and languidly on the window seat. Afterward they laid against each other, Mark cuddled on Peter’s chest while his boyfriend stroked his hair.

“I love you,” Peter said. “And I don’t know what the new year will bring us but I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“I will too,” Mark promised. 

Peter kissed his forehead and they fell asleep underneath the fleece blanket on the window seat, together, wrapped up in each other and their love.


End file.
